


Requited/Unrequited

by dimlylitbathroom



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 11:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimlylitbathroom/pseuds/dimlylitbathroom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony knows he's in love with Steve, but beyond that he's completely lost. He's hoping for some clarification at some stage, but in the meantime at least he can enjoy the view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Infatuation

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for a bit of swearing, nothing too crazy though.

That blush. It was the blush that did it really, the blush that was responsible for everything. Once, when Tony’s frustration had overwhelmed him, been too much to bear, he’d wished Steve couldn’t damn well blush, that the serum had removed that oh-so-human feature from the super solider. No blush equals no crush. Tony had chuckled about that one for longer than he’d care to admit. 

But he’d soon recanted the errant thought, hurrying to think he didn’t mean it, wouldn’t trade that blush for the world, fearful that somehow his wish would come true and he’d spend the next 20 years pining after a rush of blood to Steve’s cheeks. 

Shit. It was ridiculous, really. 

It was a blush! People blushed all the time. They blushed from embarrassment, or arousal, or god knows what else, Tony didn’t really pal around with people who _blushed,_ or at least he didn’t used to. 

Steve, though. Steve blushed at anything. He blushed at what Tony was sure Steve would call ‘off-colour remarks.’ He blushed when he didn’t get a reference, which made Tony’s life an absolute nightmare. Tony couldn’t help his references, and if they were becoming steadily more obscure, well, that blush was perfect and Tony wouldn’t, no, _couldn’t_ be blamed for trying to draw it out. Steve blushed for anything and everything and every time, every single goddamn time, it set Tony’s heart to fluttering.

Honest to god _fluttering,_ and that was no mean feat, what with the arc reactor and the shrapnel and the fact it had never really functioned very well in the first place. Tony had never _fluttered_ before, for anyone. 

There was Pepper, of course there was Pepper. Pepper was so competent, dangerously competent, so cool calm and collected. Tony had loved her, and he’d admired her, hell, he still did. But what he’d felt for her had built up slowly over the course of years, until he’d looked at her one day and finally seen what had been staring him in the face for years. 

Steve, though, Steve. What Tony felt for Steve hadn’t built up slowly, that was for sure. It’d been like a light switch. Seething irritation had been replaced, seemingly in the blink of an eye, with full on crush mode. 

Tony hadn’t really had enough crushes in his life to identify the symptoms immediately. He’d wandered around for a while worried he wasn’t getting enough sex, or was getting too much sex, or had developed an ulcer, or an anxiety disorder.

He’d whined about his knotted stomach and his aching chest to an increasingly impatient and snappish Pepper almost incessantly before his rude awakening. 

He’d been in her office, lying on her couch and interspersing complaints about his health with anecdotes about the cute little face Steve made when trying to master the remote. 

“Tony, you’re being absolutely ridiculous. And keep in mind; I’ve been with you for years, actual years. I know ridiculous. And this, this? This is _beyond_ ridiculous,” Pepper had sniped at him. 

After sulkily enquiring as to what she was on about, Pepper had well and truly snapped and, in an effort to get Tony out of her hair and off of her couch, she’d laid out his feelings for him. In fact, she’d laid them out so well her entire plan had backfired, and Tony had spent the next two hours lying pole axed on her couch while muttering “Why didn’t I see this before?” and “How could I not have known?” 

That was how Tony got banned from discussing Steve with Pepper. After he’d refused to leave while she had an actual meeting with an actual employee, eyeballing the head of HR so hostilely from the couch the poor man had fled the room while honest to god squeaking, Pepper had given him the boot, and some parting advice. 

“You should really be telling Steve these things Tony,” she’d said, and Tony could feel his lip curling up and a scoff building in his throat as he remembered her tone of voice. It had been soft, and wrong, and Tony had hated her a little bit for it. 

Plus, great advice, Pep. Tell the until-recently frozen-solid war hero from the land before time Tony wants to bury his face in the guy’s crotch and go to town. Tony still wasn’t convinced parts of Steve (the sexy parts) weren’t still frozen, this was the last thing the guy needed. Plus, didn’t they shoot gays back then? 

Tony very much did not want to get shot. Or punched so hard by a national icon his teeth burst through the back of his skull. He also didn’t want to see Steve blush from embarrassment, didn’t want to hear Steve stutter that he wasn’t into guys, but Tony was just swell, and he hoped they’d continue to be a neat team. 

The best case scenario was painful awkwardness, possibly followed by Steve giving up on the 21st century altogether and descending into madness trying to invent a working time machine so he could flee back to repression-era America. Tony was neither an optimist, nor a mental patient. He knew there was no way a declaration of love could end well. 

This wasn’t the movies and Tony wasn’t the unlucky in love heroine. He was honest enough with himself to admit that regardless of how Steve felt (which was very heterosexual, Tony was sure) Tony still wouldn’t have a chance with Steve. Steve was straight but, more importantly, Steve was wounded. Steve had lost so much, too much, and Tony couldn’t ask him to give away anything more. Tony wouldn’t be good for Steve as a lover. As a friend though, Tony was trying. He really was. 

He’d come to realise though, that it was surprisingly hard to be a good friend when he was always at half mast, and constantly biting his tongue to keep himself from sticking it down his friend’s throat. 

He _was_ trying, he really was. 

But Steve wasn’t helping. His clothes seemed obscenely tight for someone who’d slept through the 1960s and the sexual revolution. He worked out an awful lot and got sweaty, but it wasn’t really sweaty per se. It was more like a glow. 

A sexy, sexy glow that should probably be illegal. It was like that Eva Herzigova Wonderbra billboard, and Tony was perpetually on the verge of crashing his metaphorical car. 

Tony tried to keep the leering to a minimum and he thought he was mostly successful. Although all of the Avengers, save Steve himself, had called him on his vacant staring and how it seemed to be directed solely at Steve’s ass, so maybe not. Lucky for Tony though, Steve was oblivious. 

So they were friends, and the thing was, it was great. It was perfect. For all that Steve was walking sex, and for all that Tony had actually walked dick first into the kitchen counter the other day when he’d caught sight of Steve standing in the sunlight coming in the window, it wasn’t entirely his dick doing the thinking. 

Tony had been horrified to realise that, even without all the muscles and that soft, soft skin and those baby blues and those _eyelashes, _Tony would still be hopelessly, uncontrollably into Steve.__

Tony would probably still want to hit that if Steve were the elephant man. Jesus. He needed help. He was turning into a hopeless sap. 

And seeing as Pepper had cut him off, and Rhodey had spluttered indignantly when Tony had first brought up his little crush/hopeless devotion, Tony had no one to turn to. In retrospect, Tony maybe shouldn’t have opened his conversation with Rhodey with “War Machine might have to replace Iron Man on the Avengers, the sight of Steve’s ass in that costume is compromising my safety.” 

Apparently Rhodey had found that “inappropriate.” Tony had been highly sceptical of that claim, and was still halfway convinced Rhodey wanted the star-spangled man all to himself. 

That was another less than desirable aspect of Tony’s minor infatuation/sole masturbatory fantasy for four months. The jealousy. Tony had a lot of vices, most of which he happily admitted to, hell, embraced even. But he’d never been a jealous man. 

What did he have to be jealous of? He had everything he wanted, and anything he didn’t have, he could get. Spoilt, yes. Jealous, no. But with Steve, it was a whole nother ball game. 

There were the Captain America groupies, and how tacky, really. The man had been frozen for 70 years, he didn’t need his first sexual experience in the new century to be courtesy of a dewy-eyed skank giving him a squeezer. Not that Tony had thought about it, or spent an entire day wringing his hands at the thought of Steve being deflowered by co-eds, or anything. 

Then there were the SHIELD agents. Tony wasn’t sure why SHIELD seemed to be recruiting from Victoria’s Secret these days, but he found it in very poor taste. But when he’d tried to bring it up with Fury, the paranoid cyclops had just peered intently at him and asked if he should expect a sexual harassment suit soon. 

On top of that was just the reality that Steve not only lived in New York, a bonafide hotbed of gorgeous women with loose morals, but was also a frequent unwilling party guest at the most exclusive gatherings in the city, which were inevitably packed to the gunnels with eligible women. And of course, the Avengers were expected to attend. Something stupid about morale. 

Tony had tried to beg off going to their forced social occasions in the beginning, and tried to cajole Steve into staying home with him, but one call from Coulson and that plan had been scrapped. Tony liked his balls where they were, and without any electricity running through them, thank you very much. 

So he had to tool around those stupid events watching people practically pant over Steve in a tux. While he could more than identify with the sentiment, he was the only one allowed to look at Steve like that. 

Oh god, he hoped he didn’t really look at Steve like that. He was still telling himself Steve was blissfully unaware of Tony’s teensy crush/full blown obsession. 

Tony’s life sucked. Except for how Steve was everything a man should be, and Tony was head over heels in love with him, and they were friends, and maybe that made Tony lucky. 

Tony got to hang out with Steve, and even if he didn’t get to tongue his balls the way he really wanted to, well. You can’t always get what you want. That’d never really resonated with Tony before, but now he thought Mick Jagger and Keith Richards were absolute poets, and probably time travellers who’d ventured forward in time from 1969, seen Tony’s predicament and been so overwhelmingly moved by it they were compelled to write a song immortalising the whole sorry state of affairs. 

Anyway. Tony was fine. Doin’ fine. Feelin’ fine. Fine ‘n dandy. Tony had heard Steve say dandy once. Tony wondered if Steve would say dandy after sex. For fuck’s sake. 


	2. Revelations

“Hey, Stark? Holy shit, are you having an actual stroke? Blink once if yes?” 

Tony started a little, before glaring furiously (or maybe blearily, there was a reason he’d spaced out) at Clint. 

“This is you in a crisis? ‘Blink if you’re having a stroke’? That’s it, consider yourself fired as my emergency contact,” Tony snarked. 

“Oh please, as if Steve isn’t your emergency contact. He’s probably your emergency contact everywhere, isn’t he? You overheat in Japan, they call Captain America,” Clint scoffed, stuffing his face with one of the ever-present muffins that started appearing a couple of weeks ago. Tony had mocked them until he learnt Steve had made them, then he’d stolen the lot and binged on them in his room. Mental health was relative, ok. 

“Unlike you, Clint, I don’t have friends I’d trust with my life in every country on earth. Plus, the bragging rights are awesome. _Captain America_ is my emergency contact. I think I just found my epitaph,” Tony smirked at Clint and snagged a muffin for now, and another for later. 

“You’d have to change it to past tense, and the third person. ‘Here lies Tony Stark. Captain America was his emergency contact.’ It kinda sounds like an indictment of him as an emergency contact though. ‘Here lies Tony Stark, cautionary tale about the dangers of listing Captain America as your emergency contact.’” Clint shrugged. 

“Oh I’m a cautionary tale alright, but it’s more a tale of woe warning impressionable youth off letting annoying archers with Peter Pan syndrome move into their palatial Tower,” Tony chewed slowly, savouring every mouthful. Steve made these muffins. 

“Whatever, man. Back to what we were talking about before we got sidetracked by your imminent death. What was with the zoning out?” Clint’s gaze, when he really paid attention, was more than a little unnerving. Tony shifted a little on his seat. 

“Nothing, ” Tony said, affecting nonchalance.

“You know, for someone who’s boned a lot of women, you’re really a shitty liar,” Clint replied with a raised eyebrow. 

Tony narrowed his eyes across at Clint. The likelihood of him getting out of this with his dignity intact seemed slight. Clint had a sixth sense for embarrassing things Tony didn’t want to talk about. And the fact Tony’d been zoning out thinking about Steve curled up next to him on the couch last night when the soldier had fallen asleep watching 12 Angry Men was definitely an embarrassing thing. 

“It’s too early for your Johnnie Cochrane impression, what’s with the third degree?” Tony groaned. 

“The third degree? I asked you one question,” both of Clint’s eyebrows were now up and Tony was done with this conversation. 

“Ok, whatever. I, unlike you, am in demand. I have things to do. Many things. Important things,” Tony sniffed as he stood up from his stool. 

“Like Steve?” Clint asked, his face a picture of innocence. 

Tony’s foot caught in the stool and he careened to the floor, landing on his knees and wincing at the impact. The sound of Clint’s cackle from the breakfast bar didn’t help. 

“Now look what you’ve made me do,” Tony snapped from the floor, groaning a little as he tried to get up and his knees screamed in protest. 

Unsurprisingly, Tony’s clear pain and suffering did little to dampen Clint’s enjoyment. 

“Oh man, you should’ve seen your face. You’re way more fun than Steve, every time I say something to him about your future gaybies he just goes bright red and runs away,” Clint chuckled. 

“Every time you _what?”_

“Nothing, I did nothing. Christ, give me a little credit here Stark. But for the record, your poker face needs a _lot_ of work,” Clint easily dodged the apple Tony threw at his head, laughing all the while. 

“Yeah, you’re totally not head over heels in love. Way to keep a lid on it, pal,” Clint snorted and, the gods, or the fates, or karma, or whatever, decided that was the best moment for Steve to stroll into the kitchen. 

“Who’s in love?” he asked cheerily, smiling a little as he spoke and shit, that was so not what Tony needed. 

“Tony,” Clint replied, beaming, and Tony wondered how much paperwork he’d have to fill out if Clint mysteriously disappeared from the face of the earth. 

“Really?” Steve asked, turning that nearly too bright (but not quite, still perfect) smile on Tony. “Who’s the lucky lady?” 

Tony wondered if he’d hit his head at all during his fall, because he could swear Steve looked a little put out. Tony shook his head slightly. Maybe he needed more sleep, he was starting to hallucinate. 

“Lucky guy in this case, Cap.” 

Oh Barton was so very, very dead. Tony registered his brain shifting from ‘Clint’ to ‘Barton’, and recognised that this meant war. Clint was his annoying but generally likeable teammate. Barton was a nosey asshole whose destruction was assured. 

Tony was secure enough to admit that what came out of his mouth then could only really be described as a hiss. A hiss directed straight at Barton’s stupid face. 

Of course, in his haste to wipe Barton from the face of the planet with a well placed and very ferocious glare, he’d forgotten about the confused super soldier he just happened to be in love with. Steve’s voice reminded him and everything was so, so much worse. 

“A… A man? Really?” Steve’s voice was shaky, but Tony had expected that. It wasn’t every day you found out your good friend ( _best_ friend) was gay. Especially if you were from the ‘40s, and were so shocked by the idea you were probably about to pull a Queen Victoria and say you were sure men didn’t do that with each other. 

The first priority was making sure Barton kept his trap shut from now on. If he really let the cat out of the bag, well. Tony couldn’t face that. He couldn’t lose Steve, he really couldn’t. So he glared one last time at Barton, who seemed to take note, shrugging and actually moving to leave. 

“Well, that’s my good deed for the day. I’ll leave you two to it,” he said with a wink, shoving his hands in his pockets as he began whistling on his way out. 

Barton was so very, very dead. 

Tony rubbed the back of his neck as he turned back to Steve. The soldier looked a little hesitant and unsure, but he didn’t look like his head was about to explode, or like he was about to burn Tony at the stake or anything. 

“Steve…” Tony began, intending to assure him this didn’t have to change anything and if it took Steve a while to get used to the idea, that was ok. 

The idea of having to apologise for his sexuality or give anyone ‘time to get used to it’ chafed, but Steve was from a time when prejudice reigned. Tony had to give him some special consideration, even if the thought of his friend hating him for being bisexual was an even worse feeling than the thought Steve would never love him back. 

“I guess who’s the lucky guy is more appropriate then?” Steve interrupted and if his smile was small, it was still a smile, and Tony was overcome once more with how perfect the man was. 

“You’re… Ok with it?” Tony asked. Any powers of eloquence seemed to have well and truly deserted him. 

“Guess that depends on the fella. It’s not a super villain, is it?” Steve’s eyes were sparkling with amusement and Tony ached a little. Steve didn’t care. Steve was teasing him. Steve was _perfect._

“Not quite,” Tony managed to choke out. “Pretty much the polar opposite of a super villain, actually.” 

“Well then I’m all ears” Steve said, his smile widening, and Tony wondered how he could’ve ever thought Steve would care. Steve was a good man. Steve didn’t care. 

That still left the issue of what to tell Steve about Tony’s ‘mystery man’ though. Seriously, Barton sucked. Tony bit his lip, trying to think of something, anything to say, but he wasn’t quick enough. 

“Do you… not want to tell me?” Steve asked, back to hesitant. 

“It’s not that,” Tony said hurriedly, keen to assure Steve they were as close as ever. 

But he was stuck between a rock and a hard place, really. He could refuse to tell Steve anything about it, but Tony didn’t think he was imagining the beginnings of hurt in Steve’s eyes at the idea Tony wanted to keep something like that from him. 

Or, he could make up a lie; tell Steve he was crushing on someone else. Which would throw Steve off the scent, but would be a lie, and had the potential to be incredibly awkward if he was found out. Or, he could just strip off in the kitchen and beg Steve to fuck him. Seriously, these were his options? Barton was so dead. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it. You want to keep it to yourself for now, that’s fine,” Steve said, but the cheer in his voice sounded forced. 

“It’s not that…” Tony repeated. Inwardly, he was cursing his brain for not working faster. Genius his ass. “It’s just… Barton’s full of shit. I’m not in love, I’m just…” Totally and utterly in love, so in love in fact Tony could barely concentrate with Steve staring at him with those big blue eyes. 

“It’s sort of new, it might be nothing. No point going around gushing about him to you if it passes in a week, you know?” 

Judging by the look on Steve’s face, that explanation didn’t seem to be holding much water. He looked sceptical, but Tony threw him his best smile and Steve seemed to deflate a little. 

“Ok, Tony,” he said, small smile back. “But if you ever want to talk about it, you know you can, right? Not that I’d be much help. I’ve never had much luck with the guys.” 

Tony forced a laugh and said “Right.” Wait, what? 

“Wait, what?” Tony asked out loud. 

“I said. I’ve never had…” Steve began to repeat. 

“Yeah, no, I heard what you said,” Tony interrupted quickly. “I meant… What do you mean you ‘never had much luck with the guys’? I mean, I know I’m not exactly a man’s man, but you’re friends with me. And Clint, as much as any one person can actually be friends with such a creature. And Thor, and Bruce. And you had friends before you were, you know, frozen, right? Like…” 

But before Tony could say ‘Bucky’, Steve was spluttering interruptions. 

“No, no, Tony that’s not what I meant. I meant… I never had much luck with guys… You know…” Steve was stuttering by the end of the first sentence, looking at Tony expectedly as if waiting for an epiphany. Well, he was going to be waiting a long time. Tony was just thoroughly confused. 

No, he didn’t know. In truth, Tony had no idea what the hell Steve was on about, but he couldn’t be sure if that was because Steve was being unclear, or because Steve was blushing again so all the blood normally used to run Tony’s brain was otherwise occupied. 

“So what you’re saying is…” Tony began, hoping Steve would jump in any second with an interruption because he had no idea how to finish that sentence. Thankfully, Steve came through.

“Always been unlucky in love,” Steve said with a shrug and a smile. 

Thank God for that. Wait, what did Steve say? He couldn’t seriously have just said? Had Tony entered the twilight zone? 

“Did you just say love?” Tony asked dumbly. 

Steve shifted a little from foot to foot and Tony sensed he may be pissing the soldier off but for once, it was unintentional. 

“Tony,” Steve’s tone was reproachful. “You’re really not helping here.” 

Steve looked uncomfortable and Tony felt badly about that, but he was just so… Dumbfounded. He needed it spelled out in black and white, hell, maybe he needed it in skywriting or tattooed on Steve’s forehead. 

“Sorry, sorry, I’m not trying to be dense, I just… I thought you were straight. I was _sure_ you were straight.” 

Steve quirked an eyebrow at Tony and the little smile was back and Tony’d never been more pleased to see anything. 

“Tony, until a few minutes ago I was sure _you_ were straight, but I didn’t stand there staring at you and asking you to repeat it a thousand times,” Steve said, sounding exasperated but fond. Probably the best Tony could hope for. 

Steve was _gay._ Or, maybe bi Tony supposed, remembering the beauteous Agent Carter but he could investigate that later. Steve drove stick. Or wanted to, at least. Tony needed to get to the bottom of Steve’s sexual experience as soon as possible. Could he convince the others to take part in a complex game of I Have Never designed solely to see how far Steve had gotten? Damn it, Tony was distracted again. He needed to focus up. 

“Right, you’re right! Of course, you’re right. It’s just… Me, I don’t think I’m flattering myself to say I have a reputation for sexual permissiveness, whereas you… You’re from the _40s._ And you’re _Captain America._ And… well. I thought you would’ve told me.” 

That last part slipped out without Tony’s permission and he immediately wanted to bite his tongue. He was sure he just whined to Steve that he hadn’t told Tony about his orientation earlier. He was also sure he was really screwing this up. 

“Right back atcha, pal,” Steve said with a soft smile. 

“You can’t seriously be suggesting I should be held to the same friendship standards as you,” Tony shot back, but his smile was more of a nervous smirk and he felt a little antsy. 

As much as he wanted to talk to Steve, always wanted to talk to Steve really, he was keener to get out of this conversation so he could go somewhere quiet to process. Process being code for masturbate, obviously. 

“I’m not an expert, but I think that’s how friendship works Tony,” Steve replied. 

“Well I have a doctorate in friendship and I’m telling you it’s not,” Tony couldn’t help grinning, while a chorus of _Steve’s gay, Steve’s gay, Steve’s gay_ played in his head. 

“Oh no, I’m not falling for that again, I learned my lesson after telling the press you had a doctorate in reaming,” Steve’s answering grin was rueful and Tony didn’t even try to suppress his laughter. 

“One of my proudest moments,” Tony chuckled, remembering how he’d convinced Steve reaming was a futuristic form of engineering he used to create the armour.

In fairness, Tony hadn’t expected Steve to defend him at a press conference by pointing out how lucky the Avengers were to have Tony’s expertise, courtesy of his doctorate in reaming. Fury had been fit to be tied, but Steve had taken it surprisingly well. 

Tony sort of missed those early days after he and Steve had set aside their differences, when Steve’s credulity was at an all time high. Tony had told him all sorts of made up crap, and he’d just looked at Tony with those big trusting eyes and thanked him for filling him in. He was never pissed when the other shoe eventually dropped and someone informed him that no, _Alien_ was not based on actual events. 

“Although now, come to think of it, based on that you maybe should’ve known I was bi,” Tony said with a raised eyebrow. 

“What?” Steve said with a slight frown, followed by a blush so ferocious Tony fancied he could actually feel the heat. “Oh, is that what it means? Fury just told me it was a vulgar word for intercourse and that I shouldn’t look it up.” 

Tony laughed again, louder this time. “And you did exactly what Fury told you?” 

“Well, doing what you told me wasn’t working out so great for me at the time,” Steve replied wryly. “People in the street yelled at me asking if I liked to get reamed for weeks… Oh!” 

How the man could keep getting redder and redder Tony didn’t know. Maybe it was the serum’s way of making Steve attractive to prospective mates. Tony tilted his head to the side and allowed himself a full smile at the sight of it. He loved how those irresistible reddened cheeks so often accompanied Steve’s epiphanies. 

“This is why you should never listen to Fury. If you’d known what they meant, maybe you could’ve said yes and seen where that took you,” Tony smiled crookedly. He knew he was pushing his luck, but he couldn’t resist teasing Steve. He felt a little giddy from his own, unwilling, revelation, and a lot giddy from Steve’s. 

He’d never fully figured out the formula for how to successfully get Steve to talk about sex without triggering an atomic blush and a hasty retreat. Sometimes Steve got embarrassed and left quietly, but sometimes he got angry and stormed out, and sometimes he was fine with it and surprised them all with a somewhat filthy sense of humour. 

Steve made a face, and his blush was still there, but he didn’t seem too offended. 

“They weren’t exactly my type anyway,” he said shortly. 

Tony was about to ask exactly what his type was when Steve decided to be retrospectively insulted. He frowned and set his jaw and the look he sent Tony was far from friendly. Damn it. 

“Anyway, I should go,” Steve muttered and without another word he turned around and left the way he’d came, leaving Tony standing alone dumbfounded in the kitchen. 

Steve hadn’t gotten any breakfast, or anything to drink. He’d just left. 

“What just happened?” Tony asked the empty kitchen. 

It wasn’t often Tony wished he were smarter, but it seemed to happen an inordinate amount around Steve. He was sure Pepper would say it was just another _type_ of intelligence he needed, but that was bullshit. If he could graduate from MIT when he was seventeen, surely he could figure out why Steve had clammed up when Tony mentioned Steve taking strangers up on their offers of sex. 

Tony wished he knew what Steve leaving meant. But he also wished he’d gotten a chance to ask what Steve’s type was, pathetic as that was. 

“What, you think he was going to tell you you’re his type? Jesus,” Tony muttered to himself, dropping his head down to the coolness of the counter. 

He stood there, bent over the breakfast bar for a while longer. He couldn’t think. What did it mean, that Steve was gay? Did it mean anything? Was it just one of those things? Tony knew what he wanted it to mean. But he also knew that just because he’d only now found out, didn’t mean Steve had only now become gay.

Steve had been gay all along. Did that mean Steve didn’t think of him like that? Couldn’t think of him like that, didn’t want to think of him like that? If Steve was gay, and he was, he _was,_ then it wasn’t chemicals and biology and uncontrollable orientation keeping them apart. It was Tony. Steve didn’t want Tony. Fuck. Thinking through this was going to be a full time job for the next week at least. 


	3. The Right Word

Tony stayed plastered to the kitchen counter for what seemed like at least 5 hours, but was probably more like 5 minutes. He was convinced though even if he stayed there 5 weeks he’d still be as clueless as ever about what just happened with Steve. 

Tony groaned a little when he felt a tentative hand on his back. He wanted it to be Steve, but it was too small and gentle for that. Tony smiled a little sadly when he realised who it was. 

“That bad, huh?” Bruce’s voice was gentle as well, and for once Tony was grateful to be treated with a bit of care. 

“Barton’s an asshole,” was all Tony said. 

“Hmm,” Bruce hummed noncommittally. “Let’s be charitable and say Barton’s just impatient.” 

Bruce’s hand was rubbing little circles and it felt so good, and Tony was struck by how far Bruce had come. He’d changed, the casual physicality a symptom of that, and Tony had had a lot to do with that. He sighed a little. 

“Impatient how?” Tony grumbled, still not ready to lift his head up. 

“Impatient for you to make a move, of course,” Bruce said. 

His voice was soothing, but his words were not. Tony made a move to stand up, groaning as he did so. He was getting to old to bend over for so long, even if he was in the throes of an emotional breakdown. 

“Impatient for me to make a move? Jesus, what, have you all got bets on it? Am I that pathetically obvious?” Tony snapped. So they all knew. Tony felt like the last kid picked for dodge ball or something. 

“I’ve got no money riding on it, and you’re not pathetic, but you are kindof obvious. In a cute way,” Bruce said mildly, and that pissed Tony off. Why did Bruce have to do everything mildly. 

“Obvious, huh,” Tony said dully. “Obvious to… Everyone?” He winced when he heard how transparent he sounded. God, why didn’t he just embroider Steve’s name on a pillowcase and use it to smother himself. 

Bruce’s smile was kind but there was no pity in it, and that made Tony feel a little better. 

“I can’t speak for Steve for certain, but yes. I think he’s noticed,” he said before turning around to begin searching for his tea. Tea, God Tony needed a drink. What time was it? Time for a drink? 

“Oh God,” Tony groaned, resting his head in his hands. “What makes you think that?” 

Bruce pursed his lips as he filled up the kettle. “Well, it’s just… Obvious.” 

“Huh, will you look at that? I’m obvious to everyone else, and he’s obvious to everyone but me. God, have I fucked this up,” Tony thunked his head on the counter a few times. 

“Tony, Tony, stop! What makes you think you’ve fucked this up?” Bruce asked hurriedly. 

“He… He’s… I can’t tell you. It’s not mine to tell,” Tony said sourly. What a fantastic time for an attack of conscience. 

“Are you talking about Steve being gay?” Bruce asked, and the silence that followed was deafening save for the quiet bubbling of the kettle. 

“What? _WHAT?”_ Tony yelled, jerking up from the counter and pinning Bruce with a death stare. 

“Tony, Tony! Calm down,” Bruce said, and the edge of agitation in his voice brought Tony back to earth. He took a deep breath and gritted his teeth. He so did not need an attack of the green and angry to make this morning complete. 

“Whoa, sorry there big guy. I just…” Tony shrugged, trying to think of a less pathetic way to say ‘Why did he tell you his secrets and not me?’ Instead he settled for “How do you know he’s gay?” 

“He told me,” Bruce replied calmly. 

“Right” Tony said shortly. Well at least that was succinct. “Do the others know? Am I literally the last person he bothered telling? Does fucking _Fury_ know?!” Tony was having a hard time holding onto the ‘Stay calm for Bruce idea’, but he was trying and his voice only wavered between a normal volume and yelling. 

“Tony, _Tony,_ stop doing this to yourself. I don’t know if the others know, but I don’t think so. Steve didn’t tell me because he wanted me to be the first to know, he told me because…” Bruce broke off for a moment and gave Tony a considering look before talking again. “Ok Tony. You need to, and believe me when I say these are words I thought I’d never have to say to you, stop feeling and start thinking.” 

“What do you mean?” Tony huffed. Stupid Bruce with his stupid patience and his stupid logic and his stupid soothing voice.

“I mean… Why do you think he wouldn’t feel comfortable talking to you about his sexuality?” Bruce asked reasonably. 

“Jesus, are you trying to make me depressed? Do you want me to make a list of all the ways I’m a subpar friend Steve’d be uncomfortable sharing with? This is officially the worst day of my life.” 

“Tony, _you need to stop._ Jeez, I hadn’t realised you were so…” 

“Crazy?” Tony interrupted when Bruce paused for a second. 

“In love,” Bruce said quietly. 

Tony knew he should be protesting, scoffing. Maybe even heading out to a bar so he could find the first hot person to look at him sideways, bring them back to the tower, and fuck them so loudly all of the Avengers could hear how not in love with Steve he was, how appreciating Steve’s phenomenal ass was a very different kettle of fish from writing wedding vows. But it looked like he’d been fighting a losing battle for a while now. They all knew. Including, maybe, possibly, probably, Steve. 

“Tony, you and Steve are much closer than he and I….” Bruce began, but Tony didn’t let him get any further before he burst in. 

“That’s what I’m saying! So why did he want to confide in you rather than me? Is there something wrong with me? I mean, aside from the obvious, but Bruce I’ve been good to him, I have. What have I done wrong? Why not me?” 

Those final three words were enough to finally shut Tony up, as he realised he maybe wasn’t just hurt at Steve for sharing with Bruce before him. It was that he’d just found out there wasn’t anything standing in between him and Steve. Nothing except Steve’s feelings. Or lack thereof. 

“Tony… I’m sorry you’re hurt, but can you please listen to me. I can’t tell you about our conversation, he asked me to keep it private, but… I think he’s confused. And talking to you wouldn’t have helped.” 

Tony bristled, but before he could interject again Bruce clamped his hands on Tony’s shoulders and spoke slowly. 

“Tony,” he said, and Tony usually loved the sound of his own name but it’d been said in this conversation far too many times. “Listen to what I am telling you. Talking to you wouldn’t have helped with his confusion. Because you’re what he’s confused about.” 

Tony opened his mouth to respond, but Bruce squeezed his shoulders tightly and Tony winced and reconsidered Bruce’s words. Confused. About something to do with Tony? So he came out to Bruce? But what… 

“Oh,” Tony breathed, feeling like he’d been punched. 

“Yes. Oh,” Bruce said, letting go of Tony after one final shake. He shook his head as he poured his tea. “I’m seriously considering revoking your genius club membership.” 

“Shut up,” Tony replied and was mortified to realise he might actually be blushing himself. Steve was contagious. “This isn’t my area of expertise. And I… I kinda can’t really believe it.” 

The last part was spoken quietly and Tony half-hoped Bruce hadn’t heard him at all. 

“It doesn’t make any sense,” he continued, looking away from Bruce’s face and the pity he was scared of finding there. 

“Tony…” Bruce began, before he stopped and took a breath. “No, I’m not going to get into all the ways you’re wrong and all the reasons it makes perfect sense. It wouldn’t do any good. But I am going to give you some advice.” 

Tony raised his eyebrows at that. Bruce usually steered clear of meddling in anyone’s affairs, which was part of why Tony had been so surprised that Steve came to him in the first place. 

Bruce smiled a little at Tony’s expression. “I know, try not to die of shock. Here it is; talk to Steve. I don’t know what happened between you this morning, but I know he was in the hallway looking upset and confused, and you’re here looking hurt and lonely. I also know you two are miserable when you’re fighting with each other. And misery loves company. And if I have to endure another of Steve’s interminable marathons of every sad movie ever made, you’re going to have to redecorate.” 

Tony smiled a bit at that. It was true, Steve was a world-class moper and he wasn’t shy about showing it. He scowled and stomped and subjected them all to depressing films. But this time, they hadn’t really had a fight. Sure, Steve had stormed off after Tony had made a slightly dirty joke. But that was it, nothing major. But Tony still felt like the sky was falling, and like he needed to make it (whatever ‘it’ was) up to Steve as soon as possible. 

Tony shook his head a little as he realised he’d spaced on Bruce. 

“Sure thing, doc,” he said with a smile. “Thanks for the advice. And, you know, not turning green and smashing my face when I kept interrupting you.” 

Bruce smiled back, picking up his tea and making to leave. “You’re welcome, Tony. Talk to Steve.” 

He offered a friendly little wave and left the kitchen. Tony stayed for a while longer, trying to think through his morning. 

* * *

Tony hadn’t always loved Steve. He hadn’t even always liked Steve. Far from it, in fact. 

It wasn’t exactly a secret, hell, Tony knew for a fact it was water cooler fodder for months at SHIELD. The agents must be starved for entertainment if what Iron Man and Captain American snarled at each other counted as juicy gossip. 

Looking back, through the thoroughly rosy tint of his I’m-so-fucking-in-love-with-Steve-I-might-as-well-issue-a-PSA glasses, Tony knew exactly why they’d rubbed each other the wrong way. 

Of course Steve being Steve, he’d taken full responsibility for the whole mess before the Chitauri, apologising earnestly and sincerely to Tony about everything he’d said. Tony remembered being a little floored Steve didn’t seem to expect Tony to say anything back. 

Steve didn’t expect an apology in return, wouldn’t have been pissed if Tony had stood there with his arms folded and rolled his eyes. In Steve’s mind, Steve’s beautiful naïve ‘40s mind where being a good man meant something, Steve being at fault meant Tony somehow wasn’t at fault. Or was absolved of responsibility. Or something. Steve was confusing sometimes. 

Steve shouldn’t have said Tony was nothing without the suit, so whatever Tony said (which he knew must’ve cut deep, Tony’s regrets could fill a phone book but that was filed right at the top) was null and void. 

Tony though, arrogant prick that he was, couldn’t let that lie. Couldn’t let Steve have the last word, be the good guy. Tony knew that wasn’t what it was about, knew Steve likely didn’t give two shits about how it looked. 

Apologising to Tony was the right thing to do. So Steve did it. 

Tony had apologised back, had even tried to keep his sarcasm in check, but only because he didn’t want to give Steve the satisfaction. The satisfaction of what, Tony wasn’t really sure. 

But there was just something so grating, so irritating, about Steve and his perfectly combed hair and his straight back and his earnest gaze. 

He made Tony feel instantly defensive. Something about him just seemed to confront Tony, make him feel like he should be doing more or being more or making better use of himself and his resources. 

The worst part had been Tony knowing Steve wasn’t judging him. After spending more and more time with Steve, through team bonding that started out excruciating and migrated slowly towards tolerable and then embarrassingly enjoyable, Tony could see how good Steve really was. 

That didn’t help though. The better Steve showed himself to be, the more Tony wanted to squirm. Talking to Steve felt a little like how Tony imagined talking to a priest was for religious people. Permeated by a vague sense of guilt, even if you hadn’t done anything wrong. 

Their relationship had been professional, cordial even. But they hadn’t been friends. Their conversations were stilted, with faked smiles and forced small talk. 

Tony usually didn’t do awkward. If he didn’t want to talk to somebody, if there was tension or discomfort, he simply wouldn’t talk to them. One of the benefits of being Tony Stark. 

But he had to talk to Steve and what’s more, he wanted to talk to Steve. Tony didn’t have a lot of friends. He had Rhodey, and he had Pepper, and hey, end of list. Since joining the Avengers though, he had Clint, and Natasha, and Thor, and Bruce, and it was fantastic. 

Tony wasn’t sentimental. But he knew the value of a friend, and he knew how hard he could be to like. And if he was friends with the rest of the Avengers, why couldn’t he be friends with Steve? 

So Tony had made up his mind to befriend Steve, which had been all well and good. Except Tony had no idea of how to go about it. He’d never really made friends before, as such. 

He’d paid Pepper to look after him and had somehow grown on her like a fungus. He didn’t even remember how him and Rhodey had become friends. And the rest of the Avengers, through shared fighting and grunting and sweating. But he’d done all of that with Steve as well, and 90% of their conversations had still been about the weather or food. 

It hadn’t been an easy journey, though Tony really couldn’t say why. Tony wanted to be friends, and Steve wanted to be friends, but it was still a struggle. 

They’d bumbled and fumbled their way through man dates and group outings and shared activities, and it hadn’t worked. Tony had been ready to give up on the entire endeavour, write it off as a failed experiment and return to excruciating conversations, when all of a sudden something had clicked. 

Tony started seeing or hearing things throughout the day that he had to remember to tell Steve later, he sent Steve things he thought he’d like to read (after some initial scepticism Steve had taken to the internet like a duck to water), he bought Steve little gifts that weren’t too extravagant but were still thoughtful. 

It wasn’t until he was writing a little note to Steve to go along with the vintage Captain America comic he’d just bought that the penny dropped. Tony still wasn’t friends with Steve. Steve was friends with Tony, but Tony had bypassed feelings of friendship completely. 

He’d sailed straight from loathing to infatuation, with only the briefest of stopovers at courteous politeness. 

Tony had dealt with the revelation the only way any self-respecting man could. With booze and broads. He’d buried his head between the first pair of legs he liked the look of, and hadn’t emerged for several days, existing on scotch and sheer terror. 

When he’d emerged from his bender, feeling and looking thoroughly debauched but feeling just as petrified as before, Steve hadn’t said a word. Tony had expected at least a kind word or two about how Tony needed to take care of himself better, but Steve had just smiled, clapped Tony on the shoulder, and told him he was happy to see him. 

Standing in the kitchen, closing his eyes to try and cling more strongly to the memory of Steve’s hand on him, Tony had realised he was disappointed. He wanted Steve to tell him to stop drinking, stop whoring around, stop hurting himself. He wanted Steve to look after him. 

It had reminded Tony a little of what he’d felt for Pepper. An almost overpowering desire to feel wanted and cherished and cared for. 

Tony wanted Steve to take care of him, and he wanted to take care of Steve in return. Tony wasn’t an expert, but even he knew the right word for that. 


	4. Lurking, or Loitering, or Skulking

Tony was lurking. He’d spend a little while chewing his thumb nail and trying to think of a more flattering word, but all he could come up with was loitering or skulking and they seemed even worse. 

So, Tony was lurking. It had been two days since Steve had come out to Tony before storming out for unknown reasons. Two days of Tony vacillating between panicked handwringing and explicit fantasies, but that was neither here nor there. 

Tony was lurking for a reason. He needed to speak to Steve. To apologise for making him uncomfortable, or maybe just for existing, Tony was still pretty fuzzy on the details. He just knew no one had seen hide nor hair of Steve since their encounter in the kitchen and that that was a bad, bad sign. 

Steve usually wasn’t one to suffer in silence. When he was pissed, everyone knew it. He hung around the common areas, exaggeratedly sighing and pouting (honest to God _pouting,_ Tony loved how emotionally manipulative Captain America had turned out to be). Hiding on his floor for days on end was a new one, and Tony was sure it was an ill omen, as Thor might say (or boom, really.) 

Hence, the lurking. Steve didn’t have a gym on his own floor, Tony was extravagant rather than ostentatious. A subtle but profound difference that still seemed to elude Clint ‘Can you make me a solid gold Starkphone?’ Barton. Steve had to use the team gym just like everybody else, and if that had worked out pretty well for Tony’s innate need to keep tabs on Steve, well. That was just serendipity. 

Steve also couldn’t go more than one day without working out. He was a literal freak of nature, and if he missed a gym session, God help anyone within yelling distance. Tony knew he must’ve been sneaking down to the gym to bash some punching bags and grunt, but he didn’t know when. 

JARVIS had refused to tell him when Steve was escaping for some sweat-sessions, which was another bad sign. Tony was all for his teammates feeling comfortable and not invading their privacy, so unless it was an emergency, they could tell JARVIS not to share where they were or what they were doing. 

Steve must’ve instructed JARVIS to keep it on the down low, not that JARVIS would tell Tony that. JARVIS wouldn’t tell Tony squat, and his snooty British voice had been beyond indignant when Tony had asked. When it came to Steve, insubordinate didn’t even begin to cover JARVIS’ attitude. Tony was torn between sympathising with JARVIS for being sucked in by Steve’s old fashioned charm and banging bod, and annoyed even things he created to _serve him_ managed to turn on him. 

Without any actual info on when Steve was escaping his self-imposed isolation, Tony was reduced to lurking. So far, it had been 3 hours, and the gym had gotten boring two minutes after Tony had arrived. 

He couldn’t actually use any of the equipment for fear of being prematurely rumbled by Steve and giving the soldier a change to scurry off before Tony could attempt an apology. Sitting on a rowing machine doing nothing turned out to be even more boring than actually using a rowing machine, something Tony would’ve thought impossible. 

Tony didn’t get Steve’s hard on for the gym. Sure, Tony worked out, but it was a chore rather than a pleasure. He liked looking good and in a more vague sense he liked being healthy, so he worked out. He boxed and sometimes he ran, but that was about as far as he took it. Added to the muscle he put on from his work and the suit, it was enough. 

Steve, though, Steve was another matter. Tony was convinced if Steve were left to his own devices he’d set up a cot in the boxing ring and sleep in the gym, cuddling a punching bag like a soft toy. He was in love with it, and the uptick in Tony’s gym attendance when Steve was pounding away at one thing or another wasn’t just because damp, sweaty Steve was a sight to behold. 

The pecs and the biceps and the muscles Tony actually had to research the names of to ensure his filthy interior monologue was accurate _(Ooo baby work those traps, you know how I like it)_ were nice. Tony wasn’t denying that. But what Tony liked seeing most was Steve’s smile. 

Steve’s normal smile could teach toothpaste commercials a thing or two. Seriously, _blinding._ But Steve’s smile in the gym was like an eclipse. If you looked too long you were in danger of going blind. 

He didn’t grin when he was actually working out, Steve wasn’t a creep. But afterwards, man. Afterwards he lit up like the 4th of July. Tony would pay to see that smile every day. He didn’t have to pay, but he did have to put up with Clint and Natasha’s version of love taps in the ring. Totally worth it though. Even that time Clint caught his jaw at just the wrong angle and Tony lost an actual tooth. Totally. Worth. It. 

Tony had devoted a few (ok more than a few) afternoons to thinking about why Steve looked so happy after he worked out. He thought about the photos he’d seen, that frail little body that looked too delicate to house more than dust. He thought about the medical reports he’d read, the lists of ailments and illnesses. 

The thought that Steve had gotten what he wanted and it had made him happy was something Tony clung to. Tony had a long history of getting what he wanted, but when he thought back he had a hard time remembering anything that had made him happy. 

It probably said something profound about the difference between them. Steve wanted something as simple as his health, and when he got it he cherished it. Tony wanted nothing simple at all, and even when he got it, he realised he didn’t want it and threw it away. But that didn’t really matter. Introspection was a sucker’s game. What really mattered was Steve’s smile when he was in the gym. 

Two days wasn’t exactly an eternity. Tony had been away on business trips much longer, and Steve had been away kissing babies and reading to old people or whatever ridiculous crap he filled his days with. Steve actually travelled to do stuff like that. Like, out of state. He’d been away on those missions of deranged decency for a lot longer than two days. But this felt different. 

Steve wasn’t in Tennessee inspiring disadvantaged babies to apply to college or whatever. Steve was in the Tower. A floor below Tony. Steve was _in the Tower_ but he was sulking or brooding or something else bad. 

Tony needed to fix it, and soon. Therefore, the stationary rowing machine. 

* * *

Steve finally made his appearance another hour later. By that point Tony had surpassed bored and was rounding catatonic. But the sound of the gym door opening had him scrambling frantically up while trying to be quiet enough that Steve wouldn’t immediately turn tail. The whole thing was a little ridiculous, really. 

Steve was too wrapped up in maintaining his impressive frown to register Tony standing to the side and he entered the gym without properly looking around. It gave Tony a few moments to just look at Steve, and what he saw hurt. It hurt that Steve looked so miserable, but it hurt worse that it was Tony who’d put that look there. 

Tony squared his shoulders and set his jaw. He could do this. He could handle this like a man. Before he lost his nerve, Tony cleared his throat pointedly even as he stepped towards Steve. 

The soldier startled, whipping around and backing up a step when he saw who was in the gym. Tony tried a half smile but it felt like a grimace and judging by the look on Steve’s face, it looked like a grimace too. 

“Hey,” Tony spoke quietly but it echoed around the gym. “I…” 

Tony had barely gotten those two words out before Steve was making a move for the door. Damn it. Tony stepped into his path and held up his hands. 

“Steve, please!” Tony began with frustration. He was really, really sorry, but if Steve wouldn’t even give him the chance to apologise then what more could he do? 

“Please, let me apologise,” Tony asked earnestly. 

Steve had come up short when Tony stepped in his way, seemingly unwilling to so much as brush past Tony on the way to the door. So far this was shaping up to be one of the more depressing conversations of Tony’s life, and Steve hadn’t even said anything yet. Tony looked at the soldier, hoping his face looked as sorry as he felt. 

Steve didn’t look angry, but he didn’t look happy either. He looked… Well. Tony wasn’t quite sure. He was frowning, but there was also a faint pink blush dusting his cheeks. Tony, being more than intimately familiar with the spectrum of Steve’s blushes, knew it wasn’t from rage. What then? 

Steve’s frown deepened and Tony braced for the worst, but he was surprised when all Steve did was echo him. 

“Apologise?” Steve sounded confused. Well, he wasn’t the only one. 

“Yeah, you know…What people typically do when they fuck up,” Tony smiled/grimaced again, mentally chastising his facial muscles for being so useless. 

Steve didn’t say anything to that, but his eyes did flick behind Tony to the door so Tony took a breath and took a shot. 

“So, Steve…” he began, rolling forward to the balls of his feet and then back again onto his heels. “I wanted to say…” 

He choked a little on ‘sorry’ and tried to cover it up with a cough. Steve was looking at him intently and a little concernedly, and Tony again offered the weak smile that still wasn’t working. He took a breath, determined to get through it. He was terrified Steve would run off before he got a chance to finish, so when he started speaking again, it was all in a rush and his words seemed to meld together. 

“I wanted to say I’m sorry that I offended you the other morning when I said you should’ve taken up your catcallers on their reaming offers. I didn’t mean to piss you off or offend you or objectify you or anything, you know me, open mouth, insert foot. I was just making a joke, I know that’s not really an excuse, and I know you were opening up to me and I acted like a total asshole but Steve, I’m so, so sorry. I promise to never make another joke if that’ll make you happy, but please come back to…” 

Tony started to say ‘me’ before panicking, thought about changing it to ‘us,’ decided even that was creepy, then cut off completely and fell awkwardly silent. 

Finished, Tony was a little out of breath, and a lot embarrassed. Steve hadn’t so much as blinked during Tony’s little speech, and it seemed obvious the man wanted him gone. Upset and annoyed at himself, Tony offered what he hoped was a slightly more convincing half smile. 

“Er, anyway. I guess I’ve said my piece, I’ll leave you to it. Just…” Tony wanted to apologise again, but he was worried he was flogging a dead horse. 

He’d botched it the first time and he didn’t get a second go, so he just offered an awkward wave and made to leave the gym and hopefully wake up from the hideous nightmare he was stuck in. Unfortunately, Steve seemed to have other ideas. The blonde stopped Tony with a firm hand on his bicep, and Tony would forever deny he had to suppress a gasp and fight an oncoming swoon at how big Steve’s hand felt around him.

“Tony, Tony,” Steve said, still concernedly but Tony hoped he wasn’t imagining the little bit of amusement. 

“Yeah?” Tony said, cringing a little. 

Was this the part where Steve took him to task for being so insensitive? Oh God what if he sent him to sensitivity training? Coulson would probably design a course just for Steve if he asked. Something like ‘How to Avoid Offending Your National Icon Team Leader and Act Like a Functioning Human Being: Stark, If You Hurt Steve’s Feelings Again I Will End You.’ 

“Tony, I wasn’t offended,” Steve said with a huff. 

Tony couldn’t describe the feeling of relief at the words, but something wasn’t right. His Steve-reading skills must have been a little off, but Steve was definitely put out about something. But if it wasn’t Tony’s lack of tact, what was it? 

“No? Ok then… Good,” Tony said slowly, wondering what the best way to broach the subject was. “Then… What’s eating you? You had a pretty mean scowl on when you bailed on our little conversation the other day. Plus, you know. The hiding.” 

Direct was good, plus it was really all Tony had. He’d long ago come to terms with the fact he was about as subtle as a sledgehammer. 

But maybe direct wasn’t the way to go in this case. Steve looked, well, constipated. His face was closed off and there was that deep furrow between his brows, the one Tony could never decide if he loved or hated. 

“I didn’t…” Steve began haltingly, but Tony was having none of that. 

“Oh no,” Tony said quickly, heading Steve off at the pass. “Don’t pretend that didn’t happen, or you were fine, or you just really wanted to get back to your floor for a Golden Girls marathon. You didn’t even get anything to eat, and you’re like a human garbage disposal!” 

The furrow was getting deeper and ok, maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say. But the guy ate anything and he was always hungry! That was totally not Tony’s fault, plus Tony’s brain was broken from Steve-smile deprivation. He couldn’t be held responsible for anything. 

“Thanks for the glowing comparison,” Steve said sourly. 

“Nuh-uh,” Tony said with a shake of his head. “Don’t try and deflect me by pretending you’re offended by that. You ran away from me and hid for two days, ergo I annoyed you, ergo I feel bad, ergo I want to know what I did wrong. Ergo, tell me. Ergo, now.” 

Tony folded his arms, dislodging Steve’s hand in the process. Huh, had it been there on Tony’s arm that whole time? 

Steve looked at him wryly for a moment before a small smile cracked his face and the furrow smoothed out a little. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Steve said, forestalling Tony’s objections by holding his hand up. “Really Tony, you didn’t. I did run away, but it wasn’t anything you did.” 

Steve stopped there and gave Tony such an earnest smile he was derailed for a moment and smiled back as a reflex, before remembering Steve still hadn’t answered his question. 

He tried to work the smile off his face when he asked, “Are you going to tell me what it was then?” 

Steve’s smile dimmed just a hair and Tony felt a twinge of guilt for a moment. Steve’s smile should never dim. Tony should devote his life to making sure Steve’s smile was perpetually bright and sunny. Steve shook his head slowly. 

“I…” Steve started, before stopping and staring intently at Tony.

Steve leaned forward a fraction and, not for the first time, Tony was struck by how unbelievable it felt to have that gaze directed at him. If he were a poet rather than an engineer he might compare Steve to the sun, or a flame, or some other really freaking hot thing, but he wasn’t so he didn’t. He just absorbed the weight of Steve’s full attention and basked in it. 

When Steve looked at him like that, he could see what Erskine had seen, what so many had missed behind skinny ribs and a weak constitution. Steve wasn’t just a soldier, he was a _leader._ That look made Tony want to enlist, take up arms, fall in line, and Tony had never wanted to fall in line before in his life. 

It never lasted, it couldn’t. Steve couldn’t just stare Tony into submission 24 hours a day, so when they broke away Tony would take orders as poorly as he ever did. But when Steve’s eyes were on him, really on him, Tony felt like a new man. 

Steve was still staring, why Tony wasn’t sure, but it sure seemed stressful. The frown was back with a vengeance.

“It doesn’t matter,” Steve said eventually, shaking his head a little. “Sorry for making you think you’d done something wrong.” 

Tony nodded, sensing that was all Steve wanted to say about it. Normally Tony wouldn’t accept that, would poke and prod until he got exactly what he wanted, but this was Steve. This was _Steve,_ and whatever it was probably had something to do with what Steve had told him in the kitchen the other morning, and Tony was all over being understanding about sexuality crises. Well. As of this moment he was, anyway. 

So he just smiled, a little too wide and a little too tight, and clapped Steve soundly on the shoulder. He could drop something for once in his life if it meant Steve might be happy again. 

“Alright then. Well now that horribly awkward conversation is out of the way, what are you doing now?” 

Steve laughed and something that had been coiled tightly in Tony’s gut loosened a fraction. 

“Nothing,” he shrugged. “I was planning on working out, but...” 

“Wanna hang out?” Tony interrupted with a grin. 

“Sure thing,” Steve’s smile was warm as always and his hand on Tony’s back was friendly, and Tony wondered why you couldn’t capture a sensation the way you could an image. He wanted that warmth to never leave him. 

“But I still need to workout,” Steve continued, and Tony barely even frowned. 

He supposed he could endure an hour on the treadmill if it meant he got to stare at Steve. He had some catching up to do. 


	5. A Swell Party

“Stark, dude, what’s this crap I hear about you not having a birthday party?” Clint asked loudly, punctuating his question with a well-aimed almond that hit Tony squarely on the neck. 

“Ow!” Tony squawked, clapping his hand to his stinging skin and glaring at his teammate. 

It was late afternoon on a Sunday and the Tower was quiet. Tony and Steve were in the common living room watching Sunday night football (of which Tony knew nothing, but he knew all there was to know about watching Steve), and Tony had thought they were the only ones home. 

Clint had, until recently, been resolutely referred to as ‘Barton, that asshole’ in Tony’s head. He’d been cold to the guy for a full fortnight before he finally gave in. Tony hadn’t really wanted to be petty, but every time he weakened and thought about getting over it, taking Clint a beer, and just shooting the shit, he remembered Steve’s face at the end of _that_ conversation. 

Just the memory of that desperately confused face made Tony feel like shit. Clint had taken it upon himself to play matchmaker, done a piss poor job of it, left them to it once things got awkward, and disappeared to yuck it up elsewhere. Steve and Tony had been tiptoeing around each other just because Clint couldn’t mind his own business, and it pissed Tony off. 

He’d only given up on his vendetta when Clint actually came and apologised. Tony was at least 99% sure it had all been Bruce’s doing, the apology itself the most garbled, rambling, non-apologetic apology Tony had ever had the misfortune to endure. 

But Tony, intimately familiar with shitty apologies and just how awful they were to give and to receive, accepted it. Clint throwing nuts at Tony, though, that didn’t seem to reflect their return to camaraderie. 

“What are you doing, asshole?” Tony asked peevishly, diverting his attention from the TV screen. 

“Trying to get to the bottom of a vicious rumour,” Clint replied, vaulting over the back of the couch to slump down next to Tony. “It’s not true, right?” 

“Who even told you that?” Tony asked, mystified at who would possibly care so much about the possibility he might not have a birthday party they’d talk to Clint about it. 

“The Daily News, duh,” Clint said with an eye roll. 

“Who even told them… Oh,” Tony broke off as he remembered something that had happened last week. 

It’d been after a minor skirmish, nothing too disastrous, so he’d been in a pretty jovial mood. He’d been about to head back to the Tower when some reporter had ambushed him, asking a couple of token questions about the fight before turning to something she clearly thought more important to the city and the nation. Tony’s birthday party. He may have been vaguely dismissive. 

“What’s it say?” he asked, not particularly curious. 

“It says you told their reporter you won’t be having a birthday party this year because funding the Avengers has sucked up all of your petty cash,” Clint was glaring at Tony now. 

Tony threw up his hands defensively. 

“Well, you’re right about the cash flow problem being total bullshit,” Tony admitted, but ploughed on when it looked like Clint was going to interrupt. “But! I’m still not having a party.” 

“Why not?!” Clint cried indignantly. “Just because you’re off the market doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t benefit from the epic amount of ass I’ve heard comes to your parties.” 

Tony chanced a look at Steve and sure enough, the soldier’s face resembled a tomato. At least he seemed too embarrassed at Clint saying ‘epic amount of ass’ to have caught the ‘Tony’s off the market’ dig. Clint saw his glance and slid Steve a look of his own, huffing a little even as he apologised. 

“Sorry, Cap,” he shrugged, sounding not sorry at all. “But Stark’s parties are _legendary._ Is it true one of them just turned into a huge orgy?” 

Steve actually choked at that, but Tony couldn’t bring himself to look. He wasn’t exactly sure how far down the rabbit hole of debauchery that was Tony pre-Iron Man Steve had gotten. He knew Steve was a big fan of Google, the soldier even sometimes asking Tony whether this or that outlandish story he’d seen about the engineer online was true or not. 

But he never asked about anything sexual, which Tony figured must be a deliberate omission. Not even Safe Search could fully block out 3 decades of shameless whoring around. He winced, recalling some of the greatest hits from the Tony Stark: Slut.0 model he’d rocked right up until Afghanistan. He definitely did not need Clint bringing up The Unfortunate Orgy Incident of ’99. 

“Let’s just say _Eyes Wide Shut_ has a lot to answer for,” Tony replied, making a face he hoped would convey how sternly he disapproved of orgies so Steve wouldn’t disown him. 

Steve seemed to have decided to feign deafness and was resolutely watching the progress of the game on the television. If not for how stiff he was, and how red his face was, Tony almost could’ve bought selective hearing came with the super soldier package. 

“You’ve got to be _kidding_ me, it’s true?!” Clint howled. “Why weren’t we friends then?!” 

“We’re not friends now,” Tony snapped. “You’re just a sponge who uses me for free rent and now apparently free puss…” 

Tony cut himself off before he could finish, but there weren’t exactly a lot of ways that sentence could’ve ended. He glanced sheepishly at Steve and sure enough, the soldier’s frown was pretty entrenched, his attention well and truly diverted from the Cowboys or the Dolphins or whoever was playing. 

“You shouldn’t talk that way, Tony,” Steve said disapprovingly. 

Steve wasn’t really that much of a prude when it came to swearing. He rarely did it himself, and Tony regarded it as something of a treat when he did, but he never really told anyone else to stop. Except of course when it came to slang for, well, vaginas. Anything and everything in that wheelhouse led to a frown and a stern telling off. 

Tony should’ve known better, but the memory of dicks flopping out everywhere at the ill-fated orgy had thrown him. Everything bad that happened in Tony’s life was Clint’s fault. 

“Er, right. Sorry about that Steve,” Tony apologised meekly. 

“It’s disrespectful,” Steve continued, ignoring the apology. 

“Yeah, I got it, just sort of hard to break the habits of a lifetime you know,” Tony shrugged. 

He wasn’t sure when he’d become so whipped, but it was sort of embarrassing for Clint to be gawping at him while he apologised for almost saying something as tame as ‘pussy.’ 

“Riiiiight…” Clint drew out, throwing Tony a look that clearly said _Stark you little bitch._

Whatever. Tony had Steve, so ha fucking ha to Clint. Never mind that he didn’t really ‘have’ Steve and maybe never really would. That was irrelevant. 

“Anyway, Stark, you _gotta_ have a birthday party. Or just any party. Or just give me your little black book. Or…” 

“Do you usually have a party?” 

Tony wasn’t sure who was more surprised at Steve’s interruption; him, or Clint. They both turned to goggle at the soldier, who shifted awkwardly in his seat. 

“What?” he asked a little defensively. 

“Don’t tell me I’ve convinced you, Cap?” Clint all but crowed, grinning maniacally and pointing at Tony. “If you’re on my side I can’t lose!” 

Tony glared and Steve looked bemused, but they both ignored Clint. 

“Do you normally have one every year?” Steve asked again, attention all on Tony. 

“Er, yeah… That’s typically how often people have birthdays,” Tony replied, a frown of his own forming. His use of ‘Er’ went up at least 150% when he was talking to Steve; it was so unbecoming. 

“Yes, we had birthdays in the ‘40s too Tony,” Steve smiled warmly and life was beautiful once more. “I just meant, why _aren’t_ you having one this year if you usually do?” 

“Well…” Tony began, mind working furiously but still pretty damn slowly for someone whom consensus agreed was a genius. “Did you not hear Clint just now? My parties were like the last days of Sodom, only with more sodomy. I’m not into that scene anymore, I’ve turned over a new leaf.” 

Tony shrugged, feeling a little awkward and, if he was honest, a little hurt. Did Steve really think Tony would be into throwing a huge orgy in the Tower? Where the Avengers lived? Where _Steve_ lived? He had enough trouble competing with no one to be the object of Steve’s affection, he didn’t need to add actual other human men to the mix. 

Bussing in the various models, actors, athletes, porn stars Tony used to party with to tempt Steve would be like torture. Tony knew some phenomenally good looking (and slutty and limber) guys, and it was his life’s mission to ensure Steve never met any of them.

Tony could feel a pout coming on; Steve wasn’t the only one who could sulk with the best of them. But Steve smiled sweetly and the pout died on Tony’s face. 

“I wasn’t suggesting a bacchanal, Tony,” Steve sounded amused, that was good. “But don’t you want to do anything, even something small, to celebrate? It could be fun.” 

Steve sounded so hesitantly optimistic, like a party with Tony could be _fun_ in some old-timey, quaint, sweet way. Rather than some sort of hedonistic hellscape, which seemed to be what Clint was suggesting. Tony was almost swayed. 

“You wouldn’t have to do anything, if you’re worried about time,” Steve assured him. “I’d do all the work.” 

And woah, just like that a party suddenly sounded like the best idea ever conceived in the history of the world. Tony didn’t even try to hide his grin. Steve was going to throw him a party. A party. For Tony. Thrown by Steve. Tony hoped Steve would jump out of an oversized cake wearing nothing but a winning smile. 

“Yeah, yeah, ok,” Tony smiled, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck to stop himself throwing his arms around Steve’s neck and planting a smooch on him. “That could be fun.” 

Tony didn’t stop staring at Steve, smiling sweetly all the while, until another nut hit him, this time on the side of his face. 

“Ow, what the hell was that for?!” Tony exclaimed as he winced, reaching up to massage the sore spot. 

“A party planned by _Captain America_ wasn’t quite what I had in mind when I said I wanted to get some ass. The guy oozes wholesome,” Clint’s glare was ferocious but Tony was still basking in the glow of Steve offering to throw him a party. 

Which was also what he blamed for the next sentence out of his mouth. 

“You wouldn’t have found a better ass than Cap’s no matter what sort of party I had,” Tony smirked. 

Tony laughed delightedly as Steve went pink to the tips of his ears, and if his own face was feeling a little warmer than usual too, well. He knew Steve wouldn’t tell anybody, and Clint was too busy miming barfing to notice much of anything. 

“You two are the worst,” Clint groaned, hoisting himself up from the couch and making to leave. “And just for the record, I voted for the bacchanal!” 

Tony suppressed his urge to dump the nuts out onto the table and just throw the actual bowl at Clint, reminding himself if it weren’t for the archer’s insufferable needling, Tony would’nt be getting a birthday party planned by Captain America. Planned by _Steve._

Tony wasn’t just tickled about that because he’d actually _had_ a Captain America themed birthday party before, when he was 6. He had to admit there was something satisfying about growing up and getting to do all the shit you’d dreamed about as a kid but more than that, the warm feeling in Tony’s chest was because Steve volunteering to throw him a party meant they were well and truly fixed, or at least on the home straight. 

It hadn’t been the smoothest of sailing since Tony’s botched but accepted apology in the gym. They’d hung out and for the most part it’d been great, just how it always was with Steve. But there were still moments when Steve seemed awkward, and Tony hated them. 

The reminder that Steve had never given Tony an explanation for his meltdown chafed. It felt like a loose end, something that would continue to worry him because he hadn’t pushed when he should have. Tony took Steve at his word and accepted the running and hiding hadn’t been Tony’s fault, but there was still something between them that was making the soldier uncomfortable and Tony worried he’d given up his chance to find out what it was. 

All of that though, the worry and the anxiety, was being steadily crushed by the warmth in Tony’s chest at the thought that Steve wanted to throw him a birthday party. Steve wanted to celebrate the day of Tony’s birth, and nothing else mattered. 

* * *

Steve, it turned out, was just as awesome at planning birthday parties as he was at saving the world and inspiring Tony’s boners. It was perfect, though Tony could admit if it had been thrown for someone else they might have thought differently. But for Tony, it was _perfect,_ top to bottom. 

In attendance were a grand total of 11 people and, even more astonishingly, Tony liked each and every one of them. There were the Avengers, of course, plus Jane, Darcy, Happy, Pepper, and Rhodey. The guest list couldn’t have been better if Tony had put it together himself, which he had actually offered to do. 

After Steve’s assurance he’d take care of everything Tony had been plagued by an attack of guilt. Sure, Tony was busy, but it wasn’t as if Captain America had oodles of time. He was an in demand sorta guy and planning a birthday party for Tony didn’t really rank up there with forging international diplomatic ties as crucial to America’s future. 

His frequent offers to help had been rebuffed though, Steve hadn’t even let him suggest a guest list. Although his initial enthusiasm hadn’t dampened, and truth be told he’d mooned around sighing for the better part of two days, Tony had been a little wary once he had more time to think about it. Steve was a great guy, it was impossible to deny that. 

He wasn’t, however, known for being the most swingingest cat around. Steve at other people’s parties tended to be a little stiff and a lot awkward, never quite relaxing or enjoying himself. Tony thought it probably had something to do with the serum and the impossibility of getting a buzz on, but he had been reliably assured numerous times that alcohol wasn’t actually a requirement for a good time. 

Maybe Steve just wasn’t used to cutting loose. From what Tony knew of his life story, it was pretty much relentlessly grim. Steve hadn’t had an easy ride; he’d been poor, and sick, and an orphan, and then he’d gone to war. When Tony tried to imagine the guy’s previous experience with parties, it all looked pretty bleak. 

Steve didn’t talk that much about his life before the plane and the ice. He shared stories with Tony every now and again, most often about Bucky, sometimes about Peggy or the Howling Commandos or his mother. But by and large Steve seemed to be trying to leave the past in the past, and Tony didn’t want to push him. Tales of Steve’s social outings had so far been limited to the same story over and over again; “So Bucky took me out but the gal wasn’t so into me…” 

The stories had sounded pretty miserable at the time, but looking back with his newfound knowledge Tony wondered if Steve hadn’t felt a little relieved to be rejected. He wouldn’t have needed convoluted explanations on why he didn’t want to go any further, why chasing skirts wasn’t his thing. Being a dud date had its advantages when you were in the closet. 

It turned out, though, that just because Steve couldn’t enjoy other people’s parties didn’t mean he couldn’t plan the hell out of his own. Sure, the party was Tony’s in theory, but it was Steve’s in practicality. From the moment Tony had stepped into the penthouse, which he’d been banned from while preparations were underway, he’d felt at home. The party was welcoming and friendly and pleasant all round, and those were definitely adjectives that suited Steve more than Tony. 

Tony couldn’t remember ever having a party with less than 100 people. Maybe when he was in college; he was sketchy on the details of a lot of his college years so his guess was as good as anyone else’s really. 

Tony’s party past could be divided into two categories; parties for pleasure, and parties for work. Looking back though, it was difficult to decipher which were less fun.

Sure, as Clint had so crudely pointed out, the parties for pleasure were infamous bywords in excessive living. They were notorious, both for the loosest morals this side of Caligula, and for sparing no expense. Attending one of Tony Stark’s parties was something you could brag about into the next century. 

But for Tony, he’d tended to know few of the guests and he usually ended up drinking so much the details of the night were lost in a haze of tits and ass, liberally soaked in alcohol. Tony seemed to remember thinking about how awesome it was he could have parties littered with Playboy bunnies and Penthouse pets, how fucking fantastic it was to be wanted. 

But as for actual happy memories of the parties themselves? Data not found. 

The other type of party, the work affair, was possibly even worse. Anything and everything connected with Stark Industries had to be big. The bigger the better; SI parties had expansive guest lists, more food than an entire city could eat in a night, as much booze as you could drink, and for Tony were relentlessly dull. 

It was no fun talking to people whose true intentions lay under 50 layers of double dealing and shady motives. He had to guard his own words carefully so no one could accuse him of promising them anything, and he had to wade through what everyone was saying to find what they really meant. 

There were screeds of people who needed to be kept happy, needed to feel appreciated and important. If he didn’t know many of the guests at his personal parties, he knew even fewer at his work parties, and liked even less still. 

Steve’s party was exclusively made up of people Tony liked. He’d told them he didn’t want any presents and they’d obeyed, which was a relief. Tony struggled to remember ever receiving a gift he really liked. Anything anyone gave him was always something he didn’t like enough to buy himself. 

Steve, the world’s most considerate man, had really embraced the 21st century’s penchant for special dietary requirements. Tony had tried to tell him a lot of people just followed dietary fads, but scandalised didn’t even begin to cover Steve’s reaction to that. 

It was as though Tony had suggested shooting peanuts at people with nut allergies then slathering a nut paste on their wounds. In deference to this, there was a wide array of food that would cater to even the most restrictive of diets, all carefully labelled in Steve’s neat but cramped handwriting. 

‘Gluten free.’ ‘Vegetarian.’ ‘Vegan,’ and on it went. Tony had to suppress a squeal. 

If it were anyone else Tony would’ve rolled his eyes and pointed out Steve knew for a fact more than half the party guests had no dietary restrictions except ‘edible’; the Avengers were a ravenous hoard. But it was Steve, so Tony just smiled and gazed at him and his tiny signs in adoration, plotting to steal at least a couple to keep as souvenirs. 

Tony picked up one of the vegetarian thingees, whatever it was, and hummed at the taste. He picked up another, shovelling it in immediately after the first, covering his mouth in embarrassment when he heard Steve laugh behind him.

“Slow down, Iron Man,” Steve said as he ambled closer. “Leave some room for the cake.” 

Tony brightened at that, moment of embarrassment at being caught almost inhaling food forgotten. 

“Cake? There’s cake?” Tony grinned, peering around the room. 

“It’s not hiding, Tony,” Steve laughed again. “It’s just in the kitchen, I wanted to save it to later. It’s…” 

Steve cut off and Tony noticed he was blushing. Was it a penis cake? He was about to ask just that when Steve continued. 

“Well, I made it myself so hopefully it’s not a total disaster,” Steve ducked his head modestly. 

“You’re the only person who can pull off that humble crap,” Tony snarked, thinking it probably wasn’t a penis cake. “Your baking is…” 

Tony trailed off, trying to think of a word suitable for describing the perfection that was Steve’s baking, but getting nowhere. Maybe he’d have to make one up. 

“Stevealicious?” Tony tried, grinning when Steve’s expression went from confused to unwillingly amused. 

“Ok, Tony,” was all he said, but there was a happiness in his eyes and the relaxed lines of his body that made Tony feel warm. “Go enjoy your party.” 

Tony stole another two snacks and left Steve to it, wandering off to catch up with Rhodey. 

* * *

Tony looked out over the masterpiece that was New York at night, breathing in the chill air and smiling at how good he felt. Coming up to the roof to just admire was one of his favourite indulgences, something he didn’t often have time for but which never failed to sooth him whenever he did. The party had been going on for a couple of hours and Tony, though he’d been careful not to overindulge, was pleasantly tipsy. 

He’d come outside for a breath of fresh air before they cut the cake and everyone went home. He wanted to be alone for just a few moments to savour it, etch the memory of the night in his mind. 

“So,” Pepper began from behind him, edging out onto the rooftop to join him. 

Tony winced. The invasion of Pepper boded ill for any continued sense of calm. He knew that tone of voice; it always managed to make him give up his secrets. He peered up at her and said nothing.

“How’s it going with the Captain?” she asked, voice quietly amused as she eased herself down to sit beside Tony, his back against the wall of the Tower. 

Tony didn’t know what was so funny, but he was sure whatever it was he was the butt of the joke. 

“We’re great pals,” Tony said in what he hoped was a warning tone. 

“And the huge unrequited crush you’ve been harbouring?” she asked sweetly, taking a sip of her champagne. 

Tony blew out a breath before answering. There was no point in lying or evading Pepper. 

“Still as huge and unrequited as ever,” he huffed with a frown. 

She started to say something else, her face all too caring and compassionate and just urg. Tony didn’t need pity. He shook his head, laying a hand on her forearm and giving her a gentle squeeze. 

“Pep, not tonight,” he pleaded. “I don’t want to think about that tonight.” 

Pepper cocked her head before giving him a long look that spoke volumes. But at least she kept her mouth shut. She leaned over and rested her head lightly on his shoulder, looking out over the lights of the city. 

“It sure is a swell party, Tony,” her tone was teasing, but Tony knew what she was getting at. 

“Sure is swell,” he echoed. 

They sat there for a few long minutes, Tony turning his head to inhale the sweet apple scent of whatever she put in her hair, before someone cleared their throat. 

Tony turned his head and saw Steve standing hesitantly beside them, hands in his pockets and expression unsure. 

“I didn’t meant to intrude…” he began, smiling that _Aw, shucks,_ smile that never failed to charm everyone who saw it. 

Pepper flapped her hand and stood up, marching forward and waving her now empty champagne glass with the other hand. 

“Not at all, Steve, not at all,” she smiled as she brushed passed him. “I was just going inside, but I think Tony might be staying.” 

Tony suppressed a sigh at that. Pepper’s matchmaking attempts might be less clumsy than Clint’s, but they were equally unwelcome. The others didn’t know Steve like Tony did. He’d hate the idea of being set up or pushed into something, and Tony didn’t need to add Steve feeling embarrassed or hurt to the impossible equation that was Tony + Steve = happily ever after. 

Steve seemed oblivious though, he just gave Pepper a smile and a steadying hand as she reached the steps, before turning back to Tony. He made his way over and took Pepper’s place beside Tony, sitting down carefully and leaning back to look out over the city. They sat in companionable silence for a while, Steve close enough for Tony to feel his warmth and wonder how subtly he could shuffle over. 

“Does the party meet your standards?” Steve asked eventually, tone a little playful. 

“Above and beyond, Cap,” Tony replied with a wide smile. 

“Really?” Steve sounded shyly uncertain, and when Tony turned to look he was blushing a little. His eyes skittered away when they caught Tony’s and he cleared his throat. 

“That’s good to hear,” Steve said, certainty back. “I was a little nervous, it sounded like the parties you used to have were…” 

“I hated the parties I used to have,” Tony interrupted, glancing sidelong at Steve. 

He laughed a little at Steve’s look of surprise. 

“Really? You’re a heck of an actor, then,” Steve replied after a moment, a sly smile on his face. 

“Have you been Googling me again, Captain?” Tony asked, delighted. 

He loved the idea of Steve Googling him. Sure, there was a lot of unflattering crap about him on the internet, but Tony knew he didn’t have to worry about Steve taking any of that seriously. And the thought of Steve thinking about him, caring about him enough to try and find things out about him, always warmed Tony to his core. 

“Guilty as charged,” Steve admitted, holding up his hands. 

“Didn’t anybody ever warn you about the dangers of using the internet unsupervised?” Tony asked in a scolding tone. 

“Mostly you,” Steve admitted with a glint in his eye. “But I’m beginning to think that was just so I wouldn’t see what you used to wear.” 

“Hey!” Tony objected, feigning indignation. “I’ll have you know fluoro is making a comeback.” 

Steve laughed at that, making a horrified face before Tony shoved him hard in the shoulder. Steve didn’t say anything else, and the silence for once made Tony feel like sharing. 

“They were always full of assholes. Which was fitting, I guess, considering I was king of the assholes,” Tony waved his hand at Steve’s token sound of protest. 

He wasn’t being self-pitying. He really had been an asshole, was an asshole still in a lot of ways, just not the ways that counted. 

“The people who came all simultaneously hated me, envied me, and adored me,” Tony grimaced. “It was like a giant snake pit, and I could never tell which ones would bite, which ones were venomous, and which ones were actually mice.” 

“Why did you throw them, then?” Steve asked softly. 

Tony didn’t answer for a moment, just let that wash over him. 

“I envy you, you know that?” he said eventually with a bittersweet smile. 

“You, envy me? I thought you were the man who had everything?” Steve teased, bumping Tony lightly with his shoulder. 

“Lies, all lies,” Tony laughed before falling silent. 

“Why do you envy me?” Steve prompted, beginnings of a frown forming. 

“Because you’re so good. You’re so decent you can’t even imagine why someone would do stupid shit that makes them unhappy,” Tony took a long drink from his glass, saving himself from saying anything more. 

Steve was silent. Tony knew if he was sober he’d be panicking he’d offended the soldier, but the alcohol had muted that, muddled things so he wasn’t worried about anything really. He was just glad to have Steve there, with him, on his birthday. Tony didn’t expect Steve to reply, so he was surprised when the soldier spoke. 

“I think people do stupid things that make them unhappy because they don’t know what else to do. They want to be happy, but they don’t know how,” Steve’s voice was quiet and unexpected. 

“I don’t think anyone tries to be unhappy. Why would they? It’s just that sometimes, when you’re searching for something and you don’t know the way, you get lost. And it’s hard to find your way again,” Steve trailed off, frowning out over the buildings that rose around them. 

“I’m not perfect, Tony,” Steve’s face was heartbreakingly earnest. “I’ve done stupid… Stuff that’s made me unhappy before.” 

Tony chuckled quietly when Steve refused to say ‘shit’, and was rewarded with an eye roll from the man. He hadn’t expected this from Steve, this quiet, sad introspection. Tony wanted to comfort him, but he didn’t know how. 

“What’ve you done, Steve? What’ve you ever done to make yourself unhappy?” he questioned softly. 

“I’ve lied about who I am,” Steve whispered. “I’ve been too scared of failing to go after what I want. 

Tony frowned. That didn’t sound like any part of Steve’s life he’d ever heard about. 

“What were too scared to go after?” Tony enquired, curiosity overcoming wariness. 

It looked for a moment like Steve was about to tell him. The soldier looked terribly sad, and he bit his lip a couple of times like he wanted to speak but kept stopping himself. 

“Hey, hey,” Tony protested. “You don’t have to tell me.” 

“What does it matter?” Steve asked, but the question didn’t seem to be directed at Tony. “They’re all dead and gone. I could tell you all about it and it wouldn’t make a lick of difference to anyone ‘cept me.” 

It wasn’t often Steve spoke about losing his loved ones, losing his world, and Tony was utterly lost as to what he should say. He wanted to console Steve, to reassure him he’d survived and the future could be beautiful if he wanted it to be. 

“You’re here,” Tony said resolutely, grasping Steve’s hand in his own and looking intently at the man. “You’re not gone.” 

“Yeah,” Steve’s smile was small but real, and Tony breathed a sigh of relief to see it. “I’m here. And so are you.” 

“Always, Cap,” Tony smiled. 

“Happy birthday, Tony,” Steve was too close. 

Their legs were pressed up against each other, had been for a while and Tony was still holding Steve’s hand, but he was sure Steve’s face hadn’t been so close earlier. Tony could count his eyelashes, spot the light freckle on his eyelid, name the shades of blue in his eyes. 

It was Tony’s birthday, and Steve had thrown him a perfect party. He barely had to lean forward at all to press his lips carefully against Steve’s. Steve’s lips were dry and warm, and soft where they pillowed against Tony’s. Tony wondered if Steve had ever kissed a man before. Tony wondered if this was what happiness felt like. 

Steve didn’t push him away, but he didn’t really respond either. He mostly just sat there, letting Tony kiss him gently. Tony was about to break away, to give Steve a chance to tell him no or let him down gently or, best-case scenario, draw Tony back in. But Tony never got the chance. 

“Tony! Steve! It’s time for cake!” came the call of Pepper’s voice, clear over the sounds of the city stories below them. 

Steve turned automatically to the sound, but Pepper must’ve been inside a little ways and couldn’t see them. 

“Coming!” he called, sounding as unruffled and unshaken as he ever did. 

He turned to Tony and gave him the smallest of smiles before pushing himself up and offering Tony a hand. Tony took it and let himself be hauled to his feet, unsure of how to proceed. He looked up at Steve, hoping for something, anything, but Steve just smiled wide and bright and said, “Cake,” before turning to walk inside, leaving Tony standing alone on the roof with only the faint memory of the feel of Steve’s lips for company. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally Googled 'New York tabloid' and the Daily News was the first thing that came up, so I assume (I hope) it's the type of newspaper that would publish celebrity birthday party speculation. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone still reading!


	6. Way Too Heavy

If Tony had been confused by Steve before his birthday party and The Kiss (Tony had spent so much time replaying it in his mind it definitely deserved to be capitalised), there were no words to describe how he felt post-party. 

Steve, it seemed, had decided the best way to deal with Tony was to not deal with him at all. The soldier had been little more than a ghostly presence in the Tower, the echoes of his scurrying footsteps running away (no shit _running away_ ) when he heard Tony coming the only evidence he was still in residence at all. 

Under normal circumstances Tony might’ve felt smug that Steve was just as much of an emotionally stunted child as Tony. He was literally running away from _feelings._ But The Kiss wasn’t normal circumstances, and Tony was hurt. Despite public opinion to the contrary, Tony could take rejection, had been primed to take it ever since dear old Howard had palmed him off to the nearest retainer first chance he got. 

If Steve had told him ‘no,’ he would’ve accepted that. He could understand that, he could appreciate why Steve wouldn’t want him. But the thought that Steve was too scared to tell Tony he didn’t want him to his face? That was upsetting. Steve, without exception, faced his problems head on. Had Tony really been such a hellacious sex-crazed demon Steve was shying away from turning him down? As prudish as Steve was sometimes, that seemed unlikely. 

The Kiss had been the definition of chaste, nothing more than a brief press of lips. No tongue. No sighs or moans. No groping. Barely any touching, even. It had been totally junior high from start to finish, and Steve hadn’t so much as flinched.

Tony had replayed it from every angle, reconsidering and re-evaluating, and he was as lost as ever. Steve was an expert at turning people down. He had to be, the number of people who seemed to think it appropriate to literally throw themselves at the good Captain. The prevalence of fainting spells increased exponentially the closer people got to Cap, women trying desperately to fall into the super soldier’s strong arms. 

Steve was a _master_ at letting people down gently. So why not Tony? Why didn’t Tony warrant one of Captain America’s patented ‘I’m very flattered, ma’am, but I wouldn’t be able to give you the attention a swell gal like you deserves’ speeches? 

Maybe Tony would be receiving one soon. Maybe Steve was sequestered trying to rewrite his ‘Thanks, but no thanks’ speech for someone with a dick at that very moment. Maybe Tony could look forward to Steve calling him ‘swell’ and kissing him on the cheek like he did with his fan club. 

The worst part was, as much as he tried to be angry at Steve and as much as he was genuinely annoyed about the hide-don’t-seek game Steve had entered into, Tony still knew it was his own fault. He’d known Steve was on shaky ground with his sexuality, or with Tony, or with _something,_ and he’d completely ignored it. Tony had been trying to give Steve his space, doing his best to give Steve room to breathe while letting him know Tony would always be there if he ever wanted to talk. It’d been hard, but Tony’d been doing it, just being Steve’s friend, hanging out when Steve wanted but not pushing himself on the guy 24/7. 

The birthday party had well and truly put the kibosh on all of that though. Tony had just been so touched by the whole thing. There had been effort obvious in every aspect of the party, effort and consideration and affection, and Tony had wanted so badly to show his appreciation. 

Before he actually laid one of Steve, the thought had only existed in the deepest darkest realms of Tony’s fantasies. He really hadn’t considered actually kissing Steve in the real world, had known it was a bad idea. But somehow while they were out on the roof the communication between his brain and his body had short-circuited, and he’d kissed Steve, and ruined everything. Steve was hiding from him. 

Tony had, very admirably in his own humble opinion, taken the high road. If Steve’s sensibilities were so delicate he couldn’t bear to even see Tony in passing, Tony could respect that. Hell, Tony was all over respecting that. He’d removed himself from the situation, which basically amounted to sulkily withdrawing to his workshop, locking the door, and letting his thoughts fester. 

It was day three of Tony’s self-imposed exile and the workshop was starting to smell. Tony sniffed the air, groaning as he thumped his head down on his arms. Maybe stewing in his own filth for days on end hadn’t been his best idea ever. The Avengers were, by and large, a solitary lot. They understood the need to be alone, they understood what it was like to need some down time. So none of them had stopped by, although Tony wasn’t sure if he was grateful for that or not. He needed someone to whine to. 

What he wasn’t expecting to see was Steve lingering sheepishly at the glass, staring uncertainly at the keypad. Huh. He’d probably tried to use his access code but been denied. Tony had disabled the other Avengers’ codes _days_ ago. Steve really should’ve known better than to expect such a rookie mistake. Tony was a master at avoidance. 

“Sir,” JARVIS prompted. 

“Yeah, yeah, I see him,” Tony muttered. “Might as well let him in.” 

Tony turned away from the schematics he’d been idly working on and shot Steve a smile. He might be hurt, but he could still put on a brave face with the best of them. 

“Steve! To what do I owe the pleasure?” Tony asked, tilting his head slightly as he looked at the soldier. 

“Hey, Tony,” Steve replied, raising his hand in an awkward aborted wave. 

Tony raised his eyebrows. Steve was nervous. Weird hand gestures had been covered in Steve’s Body Language 101. The sinking feeling in Tony’s gut was becoming too familiar around Steve. If Steve was nervous, that probably meant he was about to let Tony down gently. Well, at least it’d be over soon. Hopefully their friendship could survive. 

“What’s up?” Tony prompted after the silence became awkward. 

“Oh, just… I haven’t seen you in a few days…” Steve mumbled. 

Tony was going to strain his forehead muscles if he raised his eyebrows any higher. Was Steve seriously pretending he didn’t know the reason behind Tony’s absence? 

“Yeah, well I wasn’t feeling super wanted upstairs and I have work to do, so,” Tony shrugged, cursing himself even as he saw Steve’s face screw up. 

How old was Tony, again? Old enough that he should’ve left passive aggressive behind a few decades ago, anyway. 

“Ri… Right,” Steve stuttered, face still sort of scrunched up in something that looked like pain. “Tony, I…” 

This was it, Tony could tell Steve was gearing up for a big moment and he steeled himself for it. But Steve surprised him. His face smoothed out, he deflated a little, and his voice when it came out was soft and hesitant. 

“D’you wanna watch a movie with me?” he asked tentatively, as if unsure of how he’d be received. 

Tony stared for a moment, but when Steve started to squirm he found his voice. 

“Um, sure Steve,” he said slowly, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Nothing happened though, save for Steve directing one of his patented sweet and gentle smiles Tony’s way. 

“Great,” he said, voice a little louder but still with that undertone of uncertainty. 

Tony was staring, wondering why Steve was just standing there like a particularly handsome statue, when he realised Steve meant now. 

“Oh!” Tony started, wincing as he stood and his body reminded him he should treat it better. 

Steve’s smile was unsure, but still present, as they moved to the elevator. Tony was sure it was awkward. He’d kissed Steve, he’d had his lips on Steve’s lips, and then Steve had avoided him for days, and now they were in an elevator together on their way to watch a movie. It was definitely awkward. 

Tony sighed internally, wishing they could skip the uncomfortable elephant in the room stage and move right on to the convenient amnesia stage. He’d already decided not to apologise, although he wanted to. He wanted Steve to know he regretted it, but he was sure bringing it up was a bad idea so he stayed silent. He reached for the button that would take them to the Tower’s common floor but was stopped by Steve reaching out as if to grab his hand before drawing back before they touched. 

“No, Tony, I thought…” Steve stammered.

Tony turned to Steve with a frown and was surprised to see Steve’s face coloured with a bright red blush. What could be embarrassing him in the elevator? Tony was just standing there, no moves were being made? 

“Steve?” Tony queried, slightly worried Steve might pass out if he got any redder. 

“Ithoughtwemightwatchitonmyfloor,” Steve muttered out so quickly it was almost indecipherable. 

Tony stood there, mouth agape, for a few moments while his brain tried to translate what Steve’d said while also working at a disadvantage brought on by Steve’s blush. Steve… Wanted… To… Watch… Movies… On… His… Floor… With… Tony. After a few moments of confusion, Tony concluded it wasn’t his brain that was broken. Steve just wasn’t making any sense. 

“Why would we do that?” Tony asked dumbly. 

But really, it made _no sense._ Sure, each of the Avengers had a television on their floor, but none of them compared to the behemoth in the common room. That thing was a monster, and absolutely superior for any and all viewings of anything. Really, the individual televisions were just for when the team wanted to be alone… Oh. 

“Oh!” Tony exclaimed belatedly, finally getting it. 

He hoped, anyway. All this confusion was bad for his digestion. Steve, meanwhile, seemed on the verge of spontaneously combusting. Tony, finally wised up, felt terrible and resolved it would probably be best not to mention it at all. There seemed to be an ever-growing number of things it was best not to mention around Steve. 

“Your floor, sure,” Tony said, quickly punching the miniature Cap shield he’d thought was completely adorable when he’d installed it. 

He shot Steve what he hoped was a reassuring smile before turning to stare at the doors, pretending the swooping in his stomach was just from the movement of the elevator. 

* * *

“You pick the worst movies,” Steve groaned, shoving a huge handful of popcorn in his mouth even as he spoke. 

“Hey! Someone has to clean that up, you know!” Tony scolded in mock indignation, pointing at the few bits of popcorn Steve had sprayed out of his mouth as he complained. 

Steve fixed him with a look and Tony’s stomach clenched. God, it wasn’t even a sexy look. It was an admonishing look and Tony was still getting off on it. There was no hope for him. 

“Yes, me!” Steve crowed, pointing triumphantly at Tony with another handful of popcorn like he’d just won a long and bitter argument. 

“We don’t all have cleaning crews to pick up the slightest hint of lint, Tony,” Steve said smugly, shovelling even more popcorn into his mouth. 

“Why are you so mean?” Tony pouted, folding his arms. 

“Because you pick the _worst_ movies,” Steve repeated. 

The movie was pretty terrible, even Tony could admit that. But it was really all Steve’s fault. If Tony’s brain hadn’t been on the fritz from Steve basically telling Tony he wanted to be alone with him, he would’ve chosen something better than The Peacemaker. 

“Hey, you’re the one who said I should pick. It’s got George Clooney in it,” Tony defended himself. 

“Hmm,” Steve hummed, for once not trying to speak with his mouth full. 

The night had so far been, in all honesty, a little weird. Or, it was and it wasn’t; it was a night of two halves. For the most part, things were fine, things were fun. They were ribbing each other as usual, chatting idly about the team and what they had planned for the week, and it was normal and exactly what they always did together. Until suddenly it wasn’t. Their eyes would meet, or their legs would brush, and Steve would clam up and direct his attention back to the movie, which he’d already declared about a thousand times he hated. 

Steve was a crap liar. He couldn’t hide his emotions to save himself, which Tony usually found endearing and reassuring. Steve was just honest, through and through. It warmed something inside Tony that people like that still existed, even if they were 90-year-old World War II vets. 

But this was just frustrating. What the hell was Steve trying to hide? As much as Steve avoiding him after The Kiss had hurt, it had made sense to Tony. Steve wasn’t interested, or if he was he wasn’t ready. But Steve had sought Tony out for this, Steve had come down to the workshop, Steve had asked Tony to watch a film, Steve had suggested they watch it _alone_ on _his_ floor. Tony hadn’t done jack shit; he was just along for the ride. 

So why did Steve keep freezing up? Tony had no idea, but he was getting mighty sick of it. He didn’t like feeling unsure, and Steve was throwing out mixed signals all over the show. 

Feeling put out, Tony reached for the popcorn at the exact same moment as Steve, their fingers brushing over the bowl. Tony couldn’t help but smirk at how clichéd that was, but when he looked over at Steve to laugh about it, the soldier flinched and drew his hand back like it’d been burnt. Like Tony had burnt it, like Tony’s flesh was so repulsive just sharing the same popcorn bowl was nausea inducing. 

Tony had had it. 

“Right, that’s it,” he snapped, standing up abruptly but hesitating for a moment. 

Should he stay and give Steve what for? Or return to his old standard of storming out without a word and avoiding Steve like the plague? 

“What the hell is your problem? Look, I know you’re awkward because I kissed you and, well… I’m sorry about that,” Tony gulped; giving Steve what for it was then. “But it won’t happen again, the only reason I didn’t say sorry sooner is I thought we were trying to forget about it and I didn’t want to embarrass you. But _flinching_ every time I touch you is… Is… Just…” 

Tony wanted to say ‘hurtful,’ or ‘cruel,’ or ‘a dick move,’ but Steve was looking so stricken he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. 

“No, Tony, don’t,” Steve’s voice honest-to-God cracked and Tony raised his eyebrows. What the fuck was going on? Steve took a deep breath and seemed to steady himself before looking up at Tony, gaze once again steady. 

“Don’t apologise, I…” he bit his lip and blushed before continuing. “I was glad.” 

That was met with stunned silence, only interrupted by their soft breaths and the sound of Steve’s jeans rubbing on the couch as he squirmed in discomfort. 

“You… Were glad?” Tony asked slowly. “But why…?” 

He trailed off, unsure of how to continue. ‘Why avoid me for days?’ ‘Why invite me up here only to get skittish when we touch?’ ‘Why would you be _glad_ at all?’ Steve, who seemed to have read at least part of his mind, saved Tony from having to come up with something that didn’t make him sound needy, or pathetic, or emotionally maladaptive. 

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Steve sounded so earnest. “I… I was scared, I…” 

He broke off with a huff and ran his hands through his hair, looking unsure and upset. Tony wanted to reach out, to reassure him with a touch but he wasn’t sure it wouldn’t send Steve scuttling under the couch so instead he sat down next to him and just waited. 

“I’m _still_ scared,” Steve admitted, speaking to the floor. “I’m scared of…”

“Being gay?” Tony interrupted, leaning in a little. 

Steve shook his head but didn’t speak, and Tony’s stomach sank for a moment. If Steve wasn’t scared of being gay, he must be scared of Tony himself. Maybe Steve’s fact-finding missions into Tony’s past had been more extensive than Tony realised. Steve was scared Tony would hurt him, and as much as Tony hated that very idea, he couldn’t blame the guy. Was there anyone he hadn’t hurt? 

“Steve, I’d never…” Tony began, but Steve spoke at the exact same time. 

“I’m scared of forgetting…” 

They laughed for a second, but neither continued, each waiting for the other to speak. 

“You go,” Steve said eventually. 

Tony didn’t want to go, he didn’t even really know what he wanted to say. He just wanted Steve to know if they were together, if Steve would have him, Tony would never look at anyone else again. He wanted to tell Steve he wasn’t some slutty society girl he’d met at a party. He wasn’t some gold digger Tony insisted on using his own condoms with because he was worried she’d poke holes in her own. He wasn’t someone he knew would sink to his knees the second Tony asked, just because he was a Stark. Steve was _Steve_ and he wasn’t any of those things. 

“Steve, I don’t want you to think any of the stuff I’ve done before matters,” Tony started, speaking slowly as he tried to organise his thoughts. “You’re not someone I don’t care about, or who doesn’t care about me. You’re important, and special, and I know it probably seems like you couldn’t trust me, but Steve…” 

“Tony, _Tony,”_ Steve interrupted, shaking his head. “You think I don’t trust you? I trust you with my life.” 

Tony thought he should say something like ‘But not with your heart’, but the whole conversation had too many feelings as it was and he was loath to make it any more embarrassing. 

“I’m not scared because of you, Tony,” Steve shook his head, frowning as though he couldn’t believe Tony would ever think that. Tony’s chest felt close to bursting. 

Steve looked miserable, and Tony was sure he looked similar. It seemed so unfair they couldn’t even kiss without their respective baggage getting in the way. It’d never been this hard before, not even with Pepper. Steve was glad Tony had kissed him, but they hadn’t kissed again. They were too busy wading through all the ways this could go wrong, which were innumerable. Tony didn’t want to perform a post-mortem on a relationship that’d never existed in the first place. 

“Stop,” Tony held up a hand and Steve stopped speaking, looking unsure. “We… This is way too heavy.” 

Steve frowned, looking ready to take offense but Tony grabbed his hand, heart skipping happily when Steve let him. 

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be,” Tony continued. 

“No?” Steve questioned, looking uncertain. 

“Definitely not. There should be no discussions of feelings, or fears, or inaccurate public perceptions of each other’s promiscuity which has been almost nonexistent for years,” Tony rambled, but Steve was almost smiling so he thought he was doing alright. “There should be roses, and chocolates, and dates, and other beautiful, happy things. We should give this a chance before we let all that other crap get in the way.” 

Tony swallowed passed the lump in his throat. He felt like a fraud, telling Steve how things should be. He didn’t know, not really, but he remembered that first flush of love with Pepper and how deliriously happy he’d been. He remembered how it had taken time for their differences and their issues to come between them, how for a while there it had been perfect. That was how it should be. If they didn’t start out happy, what was the point? 

“I’m scared, too. But it shouldn’t matter, _doesn’t_ matter right now,” Tony said. “All that matters is trying, and seeing if we can make it work, and being haphfifgu…” 

Tony’s was cut off by Steve’s hand over his mouth. 

“What’s the line?” the blonde asked, sounding shy. “You had me at hello?” 

Tony rolled his eyes. Steve had an inexplicable love for Tom Cruise that Tony could only rationalise by remembering Steve was frozen for decades and was likely missing a decent number of brain cells. 

“I never said hello,” Tony pointed out when Steve moved his hand. 

“You had me at ‘promiscuity,’ then,” Steve smiled, laughing a little at Tony. 

Tony found he didn’t mind. Steve sat back, a little closer to Tony than he had been. Tony wasn’t really sure where they were going from there. It’d been his idea to forestall the declarations and laundry lists of ‘These are the reasons I’m fucked up,’ but that didn’t mean he had anything resembling a plan. 

The film had ended while they were talking, the credits just finishing up. It was pointless to look at the screen, but easier than looking at Steve and feeling lost and horny and happy. 

Tony chanced a look and found Steve staring at him. He smiled and Steve smiled back and Tony was so fucking far out of his depth, but if it meant Steve would smile at him like that, he could handle it. Steve moved closer, erasing the distance between them. Tony’s breaths were coming a little faster. 

“May I kiss you?” Steve asked a little breathlessly, and Tony didn’t miss the nervous way he was smoothing his hands down his thighs. 

Tony smiled gently and wondered if he would ever stop being surprised at how considerate Steve was, in everything he did. Sure, being unexpectedly ravaged by Steve’s tongue would’ve been insanely hot, but being asked was just so sweet. 

Tony was used to being with people bold and aggressive enough that asking wouldn’t even occur to them. If Tony’d said ‘No’ they’d have stopped, of course, he’d never been into consent play. But their reaction would’ve been to throw their hands up and sass ‘Your loss’ before stalking out. 

If Tony said no to Steve, it would be fine. Steve wouldn’t be mad, he wouldn’t make Tony feel guilty or pressure him to say yes. Steve wanted to kiss him, but more than that Steve wanted to know that _Tony_ wanted it. The thought was charming, but also an unexpected turn on. 

“God, yes,” Tony breathed in answer, his fingers sliding into Steve’s hair before he even finished speaking. 

Steve kissed exactly how Tony expected, and nothing how Tony expected. The first time he’d just sat there without reciprocating. This time it was slow, and sweet, and just how Tony thought it would be. But it was also the most affecting kiss Tony had ever had. 

Steve wasn’t aggressive or particularly filthy, but Tony was having to restrain himself from humping the guy’s leg. It was as if Steve’s lips were everywhere, trailing all over Tony’s body and leaving little sparks of electricity in their wake. Tony licked lightly at the seam of Steve’s lips, almost shuddering when Steve opened his mouth and tentatively met Tony’s tongue with his own. Tony was hard in his pants, and he wanted to get his hands on Steve, _in_ Steve, but he forced himself to go slow. They just kissed for what seemed like an hour, their mouths slowly melting together. 

They pulled apart to draw breath, their pants of breath landing on each other’s lips. Tony was dizzy, and Steve felt so good, and he wanted to stay there forever. 

“You’re so handsome, Tony,” Steve whispered artlessly as he pressed their foreheads together, huffing out a little laugh as he did. 

Tony couldn’t focus on Steve’s face that close up, but he could catch a little flash of blue and wondered, not for the first time, how it was possible for Steve’s eyes to be that colour. 

“Look who’s talking,” Tony smirked. 

Not one of his best lines, but something about the steady way Steve kissed made Tony feel like a bumbling teenager in all the best ways. He couldn’t remember being this excited just to have someone else’s hands on him, to just be this close to someone. 

He couldn’t smirk at Steve while shoving his hand down his pants. He couldn’t whisper a clichéd line in Steve’s ear. He couldn’t do any of the things he usually did to get people into bed. Steve was better than that, Steve deserved better than that, and Tony was determined to give it to him. 

He didn’t want to say anything to Steve he’d already said to someone else. Tony wanted everything to be new, because this was it. Tony didn’t have a lot of experience, but he knew this was rare. Steve was it, the one, his penguin, whatever other stupid shit people said when all they meant was plain old-fashioned love. This was real, true, deep love, and Tony wanted it to be perfect. 

He moved to claim Steve’s lips again, but the soldier tugged Tony’s fingers from his hair and pushed him back a little. His smile was apologetic rather than angry. Maybe he wanted to go slow. Tony could do that, Tony could definitely do that. A few hours ago Tony’d been convinced Steve wanted nothing more to do with him, and now. Now he knew exactly what it felt like to kiss Steve Rogers, and he didn’t think anything else could ever make him happy again. 

“Tony, may I take you to dinner?” Steve asked, tentative smile firmly in place. 

Tony smirked at Steve’s carefully correct phrasing (never ‘can’ when he meant ‘may’) before the words sunk in and he felt happier than he remembered ever feeling before. 

“Like a date?” he teased. 

Instead of rolling his eyes like Tony expected, Steve smiled and nodded and leaned forward to press one last kiss to Tony’s lips. 

“Exactly like a date,” he murmured, drawing back, smile still firmly in place as Tony left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never actually seen The Peacemaker, it could be a fantastic film for all I know.


	7. Two Steps Forward...

Tony’s first date with Steve was off to a rocky start. And that was putting it mildly. 

It had all started out so promisingly as well, but in a way Tony knew he shouldn’t have been surprised; all available evidence suggested the combination of Steve, Tony, and romance was doomed to failure. 

The problems had really begun when Steve showed up to ‘pick Tony up’ for their promised date, although Tony was sceptical hopping in an elevator and pressing a button could really be considered picking someone up. 

Tony had been practically vibrating with excitement, having spent the day alternating between daydreaming of Steve’s eyes and keeping up an interior monologue admonishing himself for being so painfully gushy. 

When Steve had shown up (promptly at 7, of course) he was immaculately, if lamely, dressed. Tony had realised, when he had a chance to appreciate Steve in all his 6 foot 2 inches of all-American glory, that the problem with Steve’s love of khakis was multi-layered. Of course there was the obvious aesthetic failings, plus the unfortunate elderly associations. 

But the biggest issue for Tony was that despite them riding indecently high, he got absolutely no cock or ball outline at all. Not even a suggestion of genitalia. It was like they were specifically designed to curb perving, but their voluminous folds actually ended up having the opposite effect on Tony. 

They made Steve look, well, like he didn’t have any junk. Which of course made Tony want to look all the harder. The goods had to be there, right? And if they had to be there, Tony’s eagle eye had to find them. So when Steve showed up looking so prim and proper Tony’s heart heaved, his eyeballs spent an inordinate amount of time glued to Steve’s flat-as-a-pancake crotch. 

Steve had blushed 50 shades of red, looking on the verge of apoplexy by the time he was finished, and stammered something about how they should get going if they wanted to make their reservations. That really set the tone for the rest of the evening; Tony felt like a letch and Steve looked about ready to faint with all the blood rushing to his head. 

Things hadn’t improved after they got to the restaurant. They were so nervous with each other, their conversation shallow and stilted, and so on edge Steve actually knocked over his glass of water and Tony put his elbow in his entrée. 

As it stood, Tony was about to throw in the towel and write the whole thing off to temporary insanity brought on by the tightness of Steve’s t-shirts. Dating shouldn’t be this hard. Being friends with Steve certainly hadn’t been this painful. Sure, the entire time they’d been friends Tony had been harbouring an excruciating infatuation with Steve, but still. This was the third time, right, and you only get three strikes. 

Tony had failed when Steve came out to him, he’d failed on the balcony when he’d laid one on him, he’d somehow been granted a brief reprieve when Steve decided he wanted to try dating Tony, but this was his final swing and a miss. He’d apologise to Steve, go home, masturbate furiously one last time over his Captain, repress repress repress, then come up with some ideas for how to sabotage Steve’s future relationships. And people said Tony didn’t have plans. 

He was cleaning the remnants of his soup off the elbow of his jacket, grimacing, when he caught Steve’s eye across the table. Steve was trying to suppress a smile. He was actually _laughing_ at Tony’s misfortune. The sight of that look, so familiar and warm, released something that had been wound painfully tight in Tony’s chest. 

Maybe Tony could do this. Maybe Steve the potential lover was no different from Steve the best friend. The thought was calming, and Tony shot back a full on grin of his own. 

“This is kind of like the blind leading the blind here,” Tony quipped, dragging his hand down this face and peeking out at Steve from behind his fingers. 

The soldier smiled reluctantly, sitting up straighter to lean carefully across the table. 

“I’m sorry,” he said ruefully, shaking his head a little. 

“No, come on, you don’t need to apologise,” Tony hurriedly assured him, moving his hand from his face and making an aborted attempt to pat Steve for reassurance. “I just felt someone needed to point it out, and you’re way too polite to say something so assholey.” 

“Assholey?” Steve queried, lips quirking up in a smile. 

“Sure, the adjective of asshole. Or something. English was never really my thing,” Tony admitted. 

“All maths and science?” Steve asked, seeming genuinely curious. 

“Pretty much,” Tony shrugged. “I mean, I was never really good at any of that creative, artsy stuff, but even if I had been I’d never have been allowed to do it.” 

“What do you mean, allowed?” Steve frowned, apparently confused by the notion anyone would ever not follow their dreams to the letter. 

“Well, I mean the Stark empire wasn’t built on prose,” Tony said after a couple of beats trying to figure out how to say it without blurting out ‘Your old pal Howard would’ve slapped me silly if I’d tried anything of the sort.’ 

Steve seemed unhappy with that, a frown still lingering on his face. God the guy was some kind of cliché. He was actually annoyed Tony would hypothetically not have been allowed to do drama when he was a kid or some shit. No wonder their date was going so terribly, there were obvious compatibility issues. 

“Hey, no biggie,” Tony pointed out when Steve’s kicked puppy thing didn’t budge. “Lucky for everyone involved I wasn’t the next Shakespeare or anything.” 

“Just the one and only Tony Stark?” Steve asked, face smoothing out again. 

“Exactly! Why be the latest in a long line of anything when you can be the first and be awesome at it?” Tony smirked. 

“Aren’t you just the latest in a long line of engineers though?” Steve asked. 

“What?! How dare you?! I sprung forth from my father’s head fully formed. I owe nothing to nobody,” Tony sniffed indignantly. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve laughed, taking a sip of the sparkling water the waiter had replaced. 

“Ridiculously charming, maybe,” Tony waggled his eyebrows, feeling a thrill when Steve laughed again. 

“That too,” Steve murmured into the rim of his glass, blushing when Tony raised his eyebrows at him. “Shut up.” 

Tony laughed, “Anything you say, Cap.” 

Steve smiled again, still trying to hide his blush in his glass. Tony was utterly charmed. He took a risk and reached his foot out a little under the table, bumping it gently against Steve’s. He didn’t even try to hide his grin when Steve bumped him back and left his leg where it was, their ankles brushing. 

Maybe this whole date business wasn’t so bad after all. 

* * *

“I’m planning on visiting the Guggenheim on Wednesday,” Steve patted at the corners of his mouth with his napkin. 

He’d just polished off an enormous dessert, the final course after his enormous entrée and enormous main. Tony, whose eating habits could be described as sporadic at best, could never quite get over how much Steve put away. Metabolism, four times a normal person, blah blah, yadda yadda. Knowing the theory was quite different from watching the show. 

“Yeah?” Tony asked. “I would’ve thought you’d been already.”

Steve got off on going to museums, galleries, even weird outdoor performance festivals where people pretended they were artists when really they were just unemployed. Tony had been surprised, to say the least. He’d been somewhat gleefully waiting for Steve to throw a hissy fit about the state of contemporary art. But, as was so often the case, Steve defied Tony’s expectations. 

“No, not yet. I’ve been to MOMA, and the Met, and the Brooklyn Museum, but…” Steve trailed off with a glance around them. 

Tony raised an eyebrow. It looked like Steve was checking for spies. 

“What’s the problem? You scared someone from the Guggenheim’s going to jump out from behind that pillar?” Tony asked, amused. 

“Don’t be silly,” Steve frowned, but his eyes darted around one last time before he continued. ”It’s just… You’re going to laugh at me.” 

“I always laugh at you, Cap,” Tony pointed out with his best shit eating grin. 

“Fine, fine,” Steve said with a laugh and a deep breath. “It just looked so futuristic, I’ve been putting it off. I wasn’t sure what I’d find in there, but now I know a little more about contemporary art.” 

Steve lifted his shoulders in a shrug Tony assumed meant ‘Now I’m familiar with just how far art has sunk so I might as well embrace it.’ When he looked up, Tony was grinning, but he wasn’t laughing. 

“I sort of know what you mean, actually,” Tony rubbed the back of his neck, looking at Steve a little shiftily as he decided how much he was willing to share. Steve raised his eyebrows expectantly and Tony relented. “Ok, ok, now you are definitely going to laugh at me. When I was a kid I’d never step foot in the place because I thought it was an alien spaceship and if I went inside it’d take off.” 

Steve did laugh, loudly too, but there was nothing cruel in it. Instead it just sounded deeply amused and maybe a little charmed. Tony allowed himself a chuckle. 

“I thought you were some kind of genius prodigy?” Steve teased with a gentle smile. 

“I was!” Tony insisted. “Genius prodigy kids can get scared of stupid shit too, you know.” 

“I know,” Steve replied, and Tony realised he knew sweet F.A. about Steve’s childhood. 

Sure, he knew the propaganda; poor, orphan, little battler etc. But he’d never actually talked to Steve about growing up. He worried he’d stumble across something upsetting (poor orphan runt seemed like it’d come with a fair amount of baggage) but he wanted to _know_ Steve, even the painful parts. 

“What were you scared of as a kid, then?” Tony asked, throwing tact out the window. 

Steve didn’t seem angry or offended though. He looked a little surprised and he took a few moments to answer, but it almost seemed like he appreciated being asked. 

“Normal things, I guess,” he shrugged, considering. “Or normal for the time. I’d hope not as many kids now worry about starving or having nowhere to live.” 

“The Depression, right,” Tony nodded. 

“Right,” Steve said. “I don’t think you can really even imagine it.” 

Tony bristled a little, offended even though it was true. Tony had a lot of problems, but money had never been one of them. 

“I don’t mean _you_ personally, Tony,” Steve rolled his eyes at Tony’s hackles going up. “I mean you, everyone. I know the country’s been going through a tough time and they say it’s a recession, but.” 

Steve stopped, frowning a little as he searched for the right words. 

“It’s just not the same?” Tony supplied. 

“Right,” Steve nodded. “I know people don’t want to hear an old man telling them ‘This is nothing, in my day we walked 30 miles in the snow,’ but it really isn’t the same. But that’s a good thing, you know?” 

“I know,” Tony smiled. “And you’re not an old man.” 

“You’re the one who’s always calling me an old man,” Steve grinned. 

“Well, yeah, but that’s more about your sartorial choices and your manners than anything else. You certainly don’t _look_ like an old man,” Tony finished off with a leer. 

Steve, to Tony’s delight, blushed a bright pink and glanced shyly up at Tony through his lashes. Tony wanted to burst out laughing. Where had Steve gotten his flirting tips from, Mae West movies? 

Before Tony could rib him about it, Steve had shaken his head and returned to talking about his early years. 

“I never had too much to be scared, of though,” Steve said, continuing his train of thought from earlier. “I always had someone looking out for me.” 

Tony raised an eyebrow. As far as he knew, Steve had barely known his father and his mother had died when he was young. 

“Bucky,” Steve grinned, real delight showing on his face. 

It was rare for Steve to look so unguardedly happy and for a few moments Tony just basked in it. He was glad remembering everyone he’d known didn’t always have to be painful for the guy. 

“He take care of you?” Tony prompted. 

“Yeah,” Steve nodded emphatically. “More’n I liked, truth be told. I was always getting into trouble of one sort or another, and he was always bailing me out, whether I wanted him to or not.” 

“So you were always a proud bastard, then?” Tony asked. 

Steve laughed at that, knocking lightly into Tony’s ankle in rebuke. 

“I guess I was,” he admitted with a grin. “I just always wanted a chance to prove myself, you know? It seemed like cheating if someone else helped me.” 

“Are you serious right now?” Tony asked incredulously. “That’s pretty much the motto I’ve lived my life by.” 

“Don’t I know it,” Steve replied. 

“So what changed?” Tony leaned forward, curious. “What happened to make you Johnny Teamwork?” 

“The war,” Steve replied quietly, and oh shit. 

The date had so far survived a fair bit, including reminiscing about Steve’s dead best friend, but Tony thought World War II might just be one bridge too far. 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Tony said uncomfortably. 

Steve shook his head with a frown, and when he looked up he offered Tony a smile. 

“It’s ok,” he shrugged slightly. “Thinking about them is easier, now. For the most part.” 

Steve’s voice softened at the end, memories Tony couldn’t see lingering in their wake. 

“When I gave Buck a hard time for helping me out, it was ‘cause everyone looked at me and saw something useless, a waste of space. No one believed I could join the army, not even him,” Steve wasn’t quite meeting Tony’s eyes. “I thought if I ever wanted to prove I was worth a damn, I had to do it alone.” 

Tony thought he was managing to keep the surprise off his face, but he was a little taken aback by Steve’s words. They sounded depressingly familiar; desperate to prove himself, proud enough to refuse any help he was given, wanted to do it alone. It just didn’t gel with what Tony knew of Steve now, and Tony wanted to know every little thing that had changed Steve’s mind. 

“But once I got to boot camp, I started realising no one does it alone. They were training us to be soldiers, sure, but more’n that they were training us to be an _army._ What good’s being a crack shot if you’ve got no one watching your back? What good’s saving the day if you’ve got no one to celebrate with?” 

It was a little corny, but it still resonated with Tony. He found himself staring at the table, blinking rapidly to stave off tears he refused to admit existed. 

“Oh jeez Tony, I’m sorry,” Steve sounded a little frantic. 

When Tony raised his eyes, the soldier was leaning so far across the table he was in danger of splitting it in half. His face was crumpled up in what Tony had come to know was the patented Rogers look of guilt. Tony blinked once last time and plastered on his best ‘I give no fucks’ grin. 

“No worries, Cap,” he said, voice embarrassingly brusque. “I guess I blanked on you there.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Steve said again insistently. “What a stupid thing to talk about on a date.” 

Tony snorted in amusement, waving his hand in dismissal. 

“Forget it,” Tony stated firmly. “My own fault for somehow bringing up the Depression and the war. I guess you can tell I’m a little rusty.” 

‘Rusty’ was exactly how his now-fixed smile felt, but he couldn’t risk dropping it in case Steve burst into tears. By the look on the soldier’s face, they were a heartbeat away from the floodgates opening. 

“I thought you were a playboy?” Steve asked eventually. 

Tony smiled in gratitude that Steve was willing to play the game. 

“I don’t know what playboys were like in your day, pops, but now there’s a lot less dating and a lot more screwing,” Tony shot back. 

He wasn’t convinced his lecherous ways were any better a conversation topic than being poor and going to war, but he was scrambling for whatever he could. 

“When was the last time you went on a date, then?” Steve asked, hesitant. 

Tony frowned, tilting his head back. A date? A real, no foolin’ date? 

“Well,” he began slowly. “Pep and I never really, you know, dated much. We just sort of fell into it, there wasn’t a huge amount of… Dating. And before that? I guess I can’t remember going on a date before Pepper.” 

Steve just stared at him. Tony shifted awkwardly in his seat. It wasn’t that shameful, was it? 

“So this is… Your first ever proper date?” Steve looked incredulous, mere moments from rubbing his fists into his eye sockets to check he wasn’t hallucinating. 

”Well, I don’t know, maybe not,” Tony allowed. “But it’s the only one I can… Remember.” 

He tried to trail off, and ‘remember’ was so soft he knew a normal human ear wouldn’t have caught it. But Steve’s ears were made by science and they caught everything. Tony braced himself a little, preparing a wince for Steve’s inevitable disapproval, but it never came. Instead, Steve was, well. He was _glowing._ He was wearing a smile that somehow managed to be both bright and shy and the faintest pink blush dusted his cheeks. Tony wanted to lick him. 

“You’re…” Tony began, unsure exactly what he was going to say, but Steve started talking at the exact same moment. 

“Are you ready to leave?” Steve blurted. 

Tony gaped for a minute, wondering if he’d lost time or somehow missed a large part of their conversation. 

“I… I guess,” Tony spluttered, glancing around the restaurant to check there hadn’t been some sort of time displacement. 

Steve gestured for the check before Tony had even finished speaking. Tony was going to protest Steve paying, the restaurant was obscenely expensive after all and Tony had money to burn, but he knew that would offend Steve. All Tony could do was sit dumbfounded and try to figure out if this was a good thing or a bad thing. 

“Ready?” Steve’s eager voice shook Tony from his contemplation. 

The guy certainly didn’t look angry, in fact he still looked fucking thrilled. The rosy blush was still there and there was an unfamiliar but beautiful expression on his face. He looked excited. Tony nodded absently, glad Steve seemed to be happy but wishing he knew exactly why. Something about Tony not dating much (or at all) before? 

Before Tony could really begin to unravel it, Steve was right beside him, encouraging Tony to stand. Then Steve’s hand was at the small of Tony’s back and he walked close enough for Tony to feel his body heat. Tony’s breath caught and he decided deduction could wait. He just wanted to enjoy Steve’s excitement while he could. 

* * *

On the ride back to the tower Steve’s hands clenched and unclenched on the steering wheel obsessively. Steve had driven, reasoning Tony might want to have a few drinks, although Tony had suspected an ulterior motive when Steve grinned and asked to drive the Camaro. Now he was wondering if letting Steve drive had been the best idea. The soldier looked ready to pull the car apart he was wound so tight. 

“Easy there, tiger,” Tony winced when the steering wheel actually squeaked under Steve’s hands. 

“What?” Steve asked distractedly, before seeming to realise what Tony was getting at and loosening his grip. “Oh jeez, I’m sorry Tony, I’m just…” 

“Maybe just take a breath, huh big guy?” Tony chuckled. 

“I just…” Steve started, breathless, but Tony cut him off again. 

“How about we leave the talking until you’re not behind the wheel?” Tony suggested. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Steve, he did, of course he did. But he’d never seen Steve so out of control and he wanted to talk about it without the fear of possible death, his own or his car’s, hanging over his head. He didn’t understand what was going on with Steve or why their conversation had affected him so much, but he was definitely curious. 

Steve let out a deep breath and nodded. The rest of the journey was uneventful; Steve’s driving back to an acceptably doddering pace. Once Steve had successfully parked, the keys out of the ignition Tony let out a breath. 

“Fuck, Steve,” Tony laughed, unconcerned about his swearing for once. “What happened thjgfg…” 

Tony was cut off by Steve’s lips descending on his own. There were a couple of awkward moments where Tony, as per usual, didn’t know he should shut up and kept talking against the warmth of Steve’s mouth. Once it sunk in, though (Steve, mouth, kiss, _Steve)_ Tony wrapped his hand around the back of Steve’s head. 

He carded his fingers gently through that unbelievably soft hair and wondered why he was so hyperaware. He could feel the texture of Steve’s tongue against his own, the scrape of stubble and the scent of Steve’s soap. He could feel Steve’s heat, hear his breathing and the soft sounds that were too gentle to be moans. 

They broke for air, Tony gulping in a breath and grinning when he really looked at Steve. Someone had been debauched. And Tony hadn’t even been trying. Steve smiled back, bright and sure and so fucking beautiful Tony was sure his heart had actually grown. Tony made to move back in, because there needed to be more kissing like, yesterday, but Steve’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. Tony frowned. He couldn’t have gotten it wrong again, could he? 

“Tony,” Steve’s voice was husky, Jesus H Christ, _husky._ Tony hadn’t even known Steve’s voice could be husky. He hung on Steve’s next words desperately. 

“Can we go to your room?” he asked quickly, blushing fiercely but keeping his eyes firmly planted on Tony’s. 

Tony’s grin was back in full force, as was his erection. 

“You bet your ass we can,” he smirked, laughing when Steve rolled his eyes and leaned in for a final peck before they got out of the car and headed towards the elevator together. 


	8. ... One Step Back (And Off a Cliff)

“Steve, Steve, _fuck,”_ Tony moaned into Steve’s neck, practically delirious from the feel of Steve against him. 

“Tony,” Steve’s tone was admonishing but Tony wasn’t sure if it was the swearing he had an issue with or the sting of Tony’s teeth as he made his mark on Steve’s neck. 

The bruise would fade, probably before Steve even got the chance to see it in the mirror and it wasn’t like Steve was stepping out with anyone else and Tony needed to claim ownership. But still, marking up that perfect unblemished skin was such a fucking turn on Tony was a little worried he was about to come in his pants. 

“You like that, baby?” Tony asked, cringing even as he said it and wishing for a better brain to mouth filter. 

Steve wasn’t some hussy who’d insist on calling him daddy while Tony fucked him, but dirty talk was habit forming and even after unlearning his years of ‘Is daddy making you wet baby?’ for Pepper, Tony still sometimes reverted to form and baby just rolled off his tongue. Not that Steve seemed to give too many fucks. He was moaning like, well, like a first class hussy. 

He seemed nervous, his hands trembling as they skittered lightly across Tony’s skin, but he wasn’t stopping and he was hard as a rock. Tony shivered, brain trying to catch up to the fact he was really getting this. He was really getting Steve, which if he was honest a few weeks ago he’d thought he’d never get. Tony wasn’t about to waste a second of it. 

“You drive me crazy,” he whispered in Steve’s ear, rutting a little against the soldier’s hip. 

They were, for some reason, still in the hallway that led to Tony’s bedroom. Steve had been aggressive, almost excessively so, the whole elevator up but as soon as the doors had opened he’d pulled back a little. He seemed skittish and so far he’d resisted every time Tony had tried to steer them through the door of his bedroom. Tony was an exhibitionist, sure, but Captain America wasn’t something you just shared, even with your teammates and even though they were actually on Tony’s floor. He wasn’t about to expose any part of the perfect body he was currently groping to the possibility of prying eyes; he needed privacy. 

“C’mon, let’s…” Tony left the sentence dangling, opting to mouth gently at Steve’s collarbone as he tried to steer the soldier’s body towards the door just a few steps away. 

“Wait, Tony…” 

“Yeah, Steve?” Tony bit gently at Steve’s ear, tonguing the lobe as he waited for an answer. 

“Maybe we should talk about this,” Steve sounded torn, and Tony thought he knew why. 

Steve felt obligated to put the brakes on. Tony couldn’t be totally sure why, though he suspected a mixture of nerves and guilt, and the thought made his damaged heart ache a little. He smiled softly up at the big guy, remembering how eager Steve’d been in the car and in the elevator and desperately wanting the feel of those huge hands grasping, _taking,_ all over him again. 

“Ok, we can talk,” Tony murmured, plastering himself across Steve’s body and hiding his grin at Steve’s answering surprised moan. “What do you want to do to me?” 

Tony punctuated that with a glance from under his lashes and what he was sure was a seductive lip-bite. It certainly seemed to work, Steve’s mouth opened and closed a few times but no words came out. Tony took that for agreement and went enthusiastically back to work. 

In theory Tony knew his worth didn’t rest solely in his hot mouth and his tight ass and his hard cock and the things he could do with his tongue. In practice, though, in the bedroom Tony had spent a lifetime of only being worth precisely all of that, or the contents of his wallet. Before Pepper, none of his bed partners had given a fuck about being caressed or having gentle kisses pressed lovingly into their throat, being shown Tony cared about them. 

They’d cared about getting screwed, hard, to any available surface. They’d cared about getting off, and anything before that had been irrelevant. Tony still had trouble shaking it, which was why he was so keen to show Steve exactly how much he was worth. 

He broke away from this kiss, staring at Steve and wondering how on earth he’d gotten so lucky. He pulled back a little, away from the scorching heat of Steve’s body, and made to move towards the bedroom. He had Steve’s hand in his and when he met with a little resistance, he gave a gentle tug and Steve fell in step behind him. 

Tony’s bedroom was disarmingly simple. What little time he did spend there was spent unconscious, so he’d never seen the point in dolling it up. Steve barely spared it a glance, gaze trained on Tony as he was pulled into the room and up to the bed. Tony turned around, smiling slightly before he pressed his lips gently to Steve’s. 

Being wrapped in Steve’s arms was rapidly becoming Tony’s favourite thing in the world. Steve was so warm, and his arms so huge, it felt like a cocoon and filled Tony with a sense of contentment. He manoeuvred them round so Steve’s back was to the bed before slowly pushing on Steve’s shoulder until he sat down heavily on the edge, feet still planted on the floor. 

Steve’s expression as Tony lowered himself to his knees was dumbstruck, and Tony had to wonder if Steve had even thought about this before. Had he fantasised about Tony? The thought sent a shiver through Tony’s body, which seemed to fascinate Steve. 

The solider made a small noise and shifted his hips on the bed. Tony grinned, beyond ready to get this show on the road. He knelt up, taking his time unbuttoning Steve’s shirt and jeans and suppressing another shiver when the soldier was fully naked. He let his eyes drink Steve in, moving across the huge planes of his body, lingering at his throat, his nipples, his thighs, and there between them his absolutely perfect cock. He was huge and uncut, which didn’t surprise Tony exactly considering the era Steve was from, but was still unfamiliar enough to be fascinating. 

Tony looked up, dragging his eyes away from the swathes of smooth, pale, unblemished skin to look Steve in the eye. The man looked, frankly, terrified. Tony gave him a sweet, slow smile and took his face in his hands. He pressed his forehead to Steve’s, breath puffing softly against his lips. Steve’s hands came up to grasp onto Tony’s wrists, grip a little too tight when normally Steve was so careful with his strength. 

“It’s ok,” Tony murmured, punctuating his words with feather light kisses on Steve’s jaw, lips, and nose. “It’s just us here.” 

Steve sighed heavily at his words, nodding slightly and, absurdly, blushing. 

“I’ve never been like this, with…” he whispered, voice so quiet Tony barely caught the words. 

“I know,” Tony breathed back, pressing a lingering kiss on Steve’s lips for the admission. 

“I’m going to take care of you,” he said as he pulled back to sit on his heels, dropping his hands down from Steve’s face to run softly over his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, his thighs. 

Tony kept a careful eye on Steve’s face as he did so, smiling as the soldier’s expression calmed, smoothing out with each pass of Tony’s hands. He wanted this to be so good for Steve, wanted it more than anything. As he lowered his head to run his tongue across Steve’s skin, Steve’s breaths were broken, the sound sweet in Tony’s ears. 

Steve stayed mostly quiet, his ragged breathing the only noises he made until Tony’s tongue ventured between his legs and he began to moan softly. Tony mouthed gently at Steve’s crotch, licking at the join between his thigh and hip and pressing gentle kisses against his length. 

“Tony, I’m not sure…” Steve began, but he was stopped by Tony’s finger reaching up to rest lightly on his lips. 

“Shh, just let me take care of you,” Tony whispered, breath ghosting over the soft skin of Steve’s cock. 

“I…” Steve started, still sounding unsure but he cut off quickly when Tony gently sucked the head of Steve’s cock into his mouth. 

“Oh jeez,” Steve breathed. “Tony, I’m not…”

Steve broke off with a moan and Tony swirled his tongue around the velvety flesh, tonguing Steve’s foreskin as he gently pumped his cock. 

Tony waited a moment for Steve to continue, but all there was above him was heavy breathing and the occasional choked noise. Tony smiled, gripping the base of Steve’s cock firmly before sliding the length deep into his throat. Fuck, that was good. He moaned around it, dropping his hand down to take Steve’s balls gently in hand. He could hear Steve’s breathing hitch and stutter, interspersed with those breathy moans that were going directly to Tony’s cock. 

He started moving, slowly at first then speeding up as Steve tried desperately to still his hips from thrusting up into Tony’s mouth. Tony appreciated the gesture, no one liked unwelcome face fucking, but the thought of Steve fucking his mouth was enough to make him dizzy. Moving his left hand from where it had been grasping Steve’s ass (and what an ass it was), Tony deftly unfastened his dress pants and shoved his hand inside his underwear. 

The first touch to his cock was electric and he realised he wouldn’t last. He was glad for it, really, he’d been wary of asking Steve to jack him off so early in the game. The feel of Steve’s cock in his mouth, so huge and so hard, and his own hand frantically tugging on his dick made for a short show. As he listened to Steve’s moans reaching their crescendo, followed by a strangled “Tony” and some ineffectual pushing on his shoulder, Tony wrapped his lips more tightly around the tip of Steve’s cock and _sucked._

Steve came beautifully, arching off the bed, thoughts of gentlemanly conduct out the window as his orgasm crashed through him. Tony swallowed around him, lips sealed tight as he chased every last drop of Steve, desperate to taste all of him. When Steve finished, relaxing back on the bed in a state of bliss Tony pulled more quickly on his own length and, looking at Steve’s body laid out in front of him like an offering, Tony came. He jerked against the bed, mouth soft where it landed against Steve’s thigh. 

He gasped shortly for a minute or so, moving only when he felt Steve’s fingers running carefully through his hair. He smiled against the soldier, bringing his face up to rest on Steve’s stomach and gazing up at the blonde. Steve looked… Happy, but something else too, something Tony couldn’t quite name. 

Tony stood up, shedding his clothes quickly and without embarrassment before crawling up the bed and getting under the covers. Steve joined him after a few beats of uncertainty, shuffling lower until they were lying in bed side by side, facing each other. 

“Tony,” Steve sounded wrecked and Tony felt valuable. 

The soldier cradled Tony’s face gently between his huge hands and looked into his eyes. Tony wanted to squirm, uncomfortable in the face of all of that burning sincerity but he stayed still, anchored by Steve’s hands around him. Steve leaned forward to kiss him and Tony’s heart fluttered. They kissed languorously for a few minutes, Tony warm and hazy and happy the way only an orgasm could make him feel. 

“Tony,” Steve breath puffed against Tony’s cheek. 

“Yeah,” Tony smirked a little, putting Steve’s lack of verbosity down to the earlier mouth-on-dick situation. 

A good blow job could make even the most experienced man monosyllabic. Tony just pressed a last, chaste kiss to Steve’s lips before curling up against his chest. He knew he should probably clean up his own little situation, but he was too wrung out to even consider moving. He’d dealt with dried come in his pubes before, he could do it again. 

“You’ll stay?” Tony asked, but it wasn’t really a question. 

He knew Steve would stay, knew he wasn’t the sorta guy to blow a load then disappear off into the night like a blow job burglar. He relaxed into Steve’s warmth, ear pressed close to that steadily beating heart perfected by science and felt more content than he had in years. 

“Yeah, I’ll stay,” Steve murmured, muffled a little by his lips pressed against Tony’s forehead. 

If there was anything in his tone except sleepy contentment and muted satiation, Tony was too blissed to hear it. He fell asleep utterly at ease, listening to the thrumming of Steve’s heart. 

* * *

Tony came awake all at once; there was no hazy easing into wakefulness. He was just suddenly awake; suddenly awake and suddenly _alone._

He looked around the room, glancing about for some sign of Steve. Some article of clothing left behind as he went to the bathroom, or a note even if he’d been called away. There was nothing, and Tony felt a little spark of hurt at the thought of Steve just leaving him after their night. 

“JARVIS?” he ventured, pushing back the covers and getting up to look for some clothes. 

“Yes, sir?” 

“Where’s Steve?” he asked, hoping he’d be somewhere official and important. Hoping he’d have an excuse. 

“Captain Rogers is in his kitchen on his level, sir,” the AI replied without inflection. “He left at 1am.” 

1am? _1am?_ He’d barely slept with Tony at all then. Tony stared at the wall for a few minutes, desperately wondering what that meant. Maybe Steve had trouble sleeping with a partner? Maybe he had a nightmare? As Tony kept thinking he kept coming up with totally reasonable scenarios, totally acceptable reasons to leave. It was just that none of them explained why he didn’t leave any sort of word. 

* * *

Tony didn’t bother knocking when he reached Steve’s floor. It was his Tower, and anyway he was pissed. Steve should’ve told him he was leaving if he wanted some consideration. He found the soldier just where JARVIS said he’d be, sitting at his breakfast bench with a glass of orange juice looking lost. 

“Hey, Steve,” Tony said brightly. He wanted to give Steve the benefit of the doubt before he gave him a talking to.

Steve startled, staring at Tony uneasily. 

“Tony,” he said stiffly. “What are you doing here?” 

“What?” Tony asked with a frown. “Are you serious, you just left! At 1am, apparently. What’s wrong?” 

Steve looked away, his expression angry and uncomfortable. Maybe it’d been a bad nightmare? 

“I wish you wouldn’t use JARVIS to check up on me,” was all he said, leaving Tony’s question unanswered and unacknowledged. 

“Are you serious?” Tony asked again, feeling confused. “You weren’t there, I was worried.” 

Tony swallowed, uneasy with how revealing that was and unsure why he felt uneasy. There was something about Steve’s demeanour that was throwing him off, making him awkward. 

“I just needed to be alone,” Steve said shortly, still not looking at Tony. “It didn’t have anything to do with you.” 

That was a kick in the teeth, and Tony didn’t try to hide his flinch. Nothing to do with Tony? 

“Nothing to do with me, huh?” Tony asked tightly. “So leaving _me_ alone, in _my_ bed, after spending the night with _me,_ after putting your dick in _my_ mouth, that’s got nothing to do with me?” 

“Jeez, Tony!” Steve swore, hunching up. “Do you have to be so crass all the time?” 

Tony was incredulous. “Maybe I wouldn’t be so crass if you weren’t being such an asshole,” he spluttered. 

“Fine, I’m an asshole, whatever. Look, could you just leave me alone for a while? I just need to be by myself,” Steve insisted. 

“Don’t pull that passive aggressive bullshit with me,” Tony snapped. “Tell me why you left.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it” Steve muttered. 

“Well I do, and I’m not leaving until you tell me,” Tony crossed his arms. 

“Tony!” Steve was close to yelling. “Just _leave me alone,_ I’ll come find you later.” 

“Just tell me!” Tony shouted back. For once he was the wronged party, and he needed Steve to own up to that. Tony had been jilted, and he wanted to know why. 

“No,” Steve ground out from between gritted teeth. 

“Just tell me!” Tony shrieked, verging on hysterical. 

Maybe he was being unreasonable. The tone of his voice certainly seemed to suggest he was the hysterical one and Steve was in the right. But Steve _wasn’t,_ in the right, he just wasn’t. Tony had left enough beds while whomever he was sharing with was still asleep to know you only did it if you wanted away from them, or possibly if the world was ending. There was no rain of fire outside the windows, so that left Tony with one option. Steve had wanted away from him. 

Normally, Tony would’ve understood, hell he could barely stand himself most days. He could definitely identify with needing a Tony-break. But he hadn’t been trading snide remarks or cutting barbs, he hadn’t been trying to get a rise out of Steve or being emotionally withdrawn just to piss him off. He’d been asleep for fuck’s sake! What was Steve going to say, that the cadence of Tony’s breathing was just so Goddamn irritating he had no choice but to leave the room or risk suffocating him with a pillow. 

Steve hadn’t answered. His jaw, that perfect fucking jaw that made Tony ache a little with how flawless it was, was sticking out the way it did only when Steve was truly pissed. Tony had been the cause of Steve thrusting out his jaw enough times to recognise it, but this time he was totally thrown. For perhaps the only time in his life, he really hadn’t done anything wrong. 

The appearance of the angry jaw was a bad sign though, regardless of whether it was Tony’s fault or not. Steve usually had a pretty good handle on his anger, but when he didn’t he could really throw a tantrum with the best of them. Tony felt his stomach clench at the thought 

“Steve, please, I just…” Tony started, voice no longer harsh and angry, just defeated. 

Steve frowned, sighing heavily and reaching up to rub at his forehead. His jaw was back in its normal position, but Tony didn’t feel any better. He was still sure they were headed for a collision. 

“I’m sorry you’re upset,” Steve said eventually, clearly trying to modulate his tone to something not enraged. 

Tony grit his teeth and stayed his tongue. _I’m sorry you’re upset_ was definitely not _I’m sorry for leaving you alone._ Steve didn’t usually go in for such weasely bullshit, and Tony just really wanted a straight answer. 

“But you can’t expect me to always be at your beck and call,” he continued and Tony threw caution to the wind. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asked, interrupting whatever crap Steve had been about to spout. “No, that is an actual legitimate question. _Are you kidding me?”_

Steve glared when Tony waited for an answer. 

“No, I’m not kidding you,” he started, but once Tony heard that he talked right over whatever else Steve had been about to say. 

“Ok, good, now we’ve clarified that I can get on with telling you you’re an asshole,” Tony stated loudly. 

“I’m an asshole?” Steve asked incredulously. 

“Yes, you’re an asshole,” Tony repeated, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring. “Asking why you left me alone in bed then getting pissed when you refuse to tell me is not ‘needing you to be at my constant beck and call.’ It’s actually normal behaviour, is that something you’re familiar with?” 

“You…” Steve started, staring at Tony like he’d grown a second head. “You are so infuriating sometimes.” 

“Well I won’t argue with you there,” Tony allowed and for a second he was sure Steve’s lip curled just a little, but it was quickly replaced by Steve’s hardened scowl. “But this time it’s all on you, big guy.” 

“All on me, is it?” Steve asked, voice strained with barely suppressed anger. “Have anything ever been even a little your fault?” 

“Screw you,” Tony shot back. 

“Not on your life,” Steve snapped in reply. 

“You seemed pretty into it last night,” Tony fumed, trying to remind Steve that before he pulled his disappearing act he’d actually been in the bed as well. 

“You… You made me!” Steve shouted, clamping his mouth shut and blushing when he realised how loud that was. 

Tony couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. Was Steve seriously suggesting…? 

“I’d _never_ ,” Tony stuttered, feeling faint even as he said the words. 

“No, Tony I didn’t mean that,” Steve rushed to clarify, looking shaken. 

“You said I made you! You just said it!” Tony yelled. 

“I just meant last night was… That wasn’t how I wanted the evening to end,” Steve looked miserable, but what right he had to that Tony didn’t know. 

“Is that right? So I hallucinated you mauling me in my car? I dreamed the entire ‘Me Tarzan, you Jane’ act you put on?” Tony sneered. 

“I did not _maul_ you,” Steve exclaimed, but for the first time his blush wasn’t endearing. It just sort of made Tony want to punch him. 

“The bruises on my hips tell a different story!” Tony shouted, tempted to pull his shirt up and show Steve exactly what he meant, but Steve’s look of anger stopped him. 

“Look, Tony, I’m sorry for leaving,” Steve allowed, drawing in a breath slowly and looking at Tony steadily. 

Tony recognised the hallmarks of a man on the verge of letting his anger get away from him trying to rein himself back in, and the gesture made him check himself. He closed his eyes for a moment. He could barely think past his anger and, in all honesty, his hurt. He opened his eyes and tried to look at Steve without wanting to take a swing at him. It was something of a challenge and he didn’t trust himself to speak so he just nodded his head. 

Steve nodded in return and sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. 

“I just… I think we moved too fast,” he said eventually, eyes downcast. “I’m not ready to do… Those sort of things yet.” 

Tony stayed silent while he tried to stop himself from responding with scorn. _Those sort of things,_ Steve was really giving a new meaning to ‘repressed.’ 

“Ok,” Tony said eventually. “But you never told me that and I’m not a mind reader, Steve. You can’t get pissy and blame me for you not speaking up. That’s on _you,_ not me. You’re a big boy, Cap, and I know you know how to use your words.” 

“You won’t give me an inch, will you?” Steve scoffed. “I’m trying to be reasonable!” 

“Accusing me of pressuring you into sex is you being reasonable?!” Tony shouted, any pretence of reason out the window. 

“You made me feel cheap,” Steve retorted. 

“I made you feel what?” Tony asked, dumbfounded. 

“How many people have been with you in that bed before me?” Steve demanded. 

“Jesus Steve,” Tony protested. That wasn’t fair, apart from Pepper and Steve he’d been with no one in that bed. 

“See, you don’t even know!” Steve exclaimed, like he’d won the point. 

“No, I just don’t know what the fuck it has to do with anything,” Tony snapped back. 

“Sex doesn’t mean anything to you,” Steve spat out, biting his lip afterwards like he was embarrassed the ‘s’ word just passed his virginal fucking lips. 

“What would you know about it?” Tony demanded, stung. 

“Everything!” Steve exploded, gesturing with his arms and looking halfway to manic. “I’d know everything, because I have eyes Tony.” 

“What’s that got to do with…” Tony began, but Steve interrupted. 

“I can read and I can see, so I know exactly what sex means to you,” Steve declared. “It’s all over the internet Tony, the pictures, the stories. I knew your dick size practically before we’d even met.” 

Steve blushed when he said dick and it sounded wrong, like a borrowed phrase Steve wasn’t quite sure of how to use. But even more jarring was the fact that Steve was, without using the words, calling him a whore. 

“I thought… I wanted… It should’ve meant something,” Steve trailed off, voice soft. 

It took a few moments for that to sink in. _Should’ve meant something._ Should’ve, but didn’t. It didn’t mean anything to Steve and he couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Tony felt sick. 

“Right,” Tony said. 

He was tired of this conversation; just when he thought they’d hit a low point, Steve somehow managed to drop them even lower. He was ready for it to the over, the conversation, whatever he had with Steve, but he wasn’t about to let the solider go without a few jabs of his own. 

“I guess it’s good to know what you think of me,” he continued. “Good to get any illusions out of the way early on.” 

Steve looked guilty and after a few seconds he dropped his psycho-alpha pose, letting his shoulders drop and rubbing a hand over his face. 

“Tony, no, that’s not what I think…” he started, but Tony spoke over him. 

“Yes it is,” Tony insisted. “You just said it, you just made it clear, don’t backtrack now.” 

“Tony, I’m…” Steve started again, looking at Tony now without the mixture of panic and anger from earlier. 

“It’s real clear Rogers, no need to add to it,” Tony snapped, glancing away when Steve flinched at ‘Rogers.’ “Rest assured I am leaving, you won’t have to worry about your virtue for too much longer.” 

Steve looked about ready to cry and that made Tony so _mad._ What right did Steve have to be upset? Tony was the one who’d been summarily rejected before being called a cheap screw who took advantage of his inexperienced team leader. But the worst was that Steve said it should’ve meant something. As if it didn’t. Tony had thick skin, but being told he didn’t mean anything by the guy he was fucking in love with was too much for even him to shrug off. 

“But before I leave, I want to ask you something,” Steve looked at Tony hesitantly at that. “During your ‘research’, did you happen to look at the dates on any of those pictures, any of those interviews?” 

Steve frowned, opening his mouth to retort before glancing away to look at the floor. Tony waited a few beats, and eventually Steve shook his head almost imperceptibly. 

When Steve raised his head to look back at Tony, expression pained, Tony nodded stiffly. 

“I haven’t had casual sex in years,” he said, straightening his back and squaring his shoulders. “Yeah, I used to fuck anything that moved. But then there was Afghanistan. And after that there was only Pepper. And then only you.” 

Tony set his jaw, determined to get through this, determined Steve would know exactly how unfair he was being. 

“I didn’t force you to do anything. If you regret last night, that’s on _you,_ not me.” 

“Tony,” Steve began, the anger from before completely gone, replaced by something soft and broken. 

It wasn’t Tony’s job to care anymore though, so he ignored it and just keep on speaking. If he stopped he’d never get it all out. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. 

He saw Steve’s face crumple for a moment, looking for all the world like he was about to accept Tony’s apology and maybe offer one of his own, so Tony nipped that right in the bud. 

“I’m sorry it didn’t mean anything to you,” he spat. 

There was more he was going to say, _because it meant everything to me,_ but his voice cracked and he couldn’t force the words out. He grit his teeth, biting down on the words of accusation and anger that wanted to bubble up out of his throat. He’d said enough. They’d both said enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glacial doesn't even begin to describe the pace of my writing, thanks for people sticking with it. 
> 
> Also, it's not betaed so if you come across any errors, let me know.


	9. Coping Mechanisms

“What the hell is the deal with you and Cap?” 

Tony glared fiercely in Clint’s direction. He was down in his workshop for a reason, the reason being he wanted to be alone. Not because he wanted to open himself up for some misplaced nosiness from Clint. 

“I don’t know what you mean, and even if I did, I’d still want you to get the hell out. Aren’t you supposed to be some sort of expert of body language?” Tony asked, turning pointedly away Clint while he folded his arms and hunched his back. “My body is saying: kindly fuck off.” 

“Maybe,” Tony could almost hear Clint’s shrug in his voice. “But I’m more interested in someone else’s body language.” 

“What? Clint, can you seriously leave me alone. I’m not in the mood.” 

“I don’t care about your mood,” Clint said flatly, and Tony turned around, ready to yell at him when he caught sight of Clint’s face and the fight went out of him. 

Tony blew out a breath and tilted his head back. 

“Alright. Just say it, say what you have to say. I’ll listen,” he said, head still thrown back and his eyes on the ceiling. 

“Okaaaaay,” Clint drew it out as he snagged a stool and settled down opposite Tony. “We were talking about Steve’s body language.” 

“That’s an interesting interpretation of the conversation,” Tony snorted, but Clint kicked him in the shin and Tony’s head snapped back down. “Hey!” 

“Hey nothing. Do you really think this is where I want to be? Down here talking about _boys?!_ I’m not your gay best friend, I don’t want to be doing this bullshit, but as long as I have to, you have to play along,” Clint snapped. 

“Why the hell are you down here then, just leave! Like I care!” Tony yelled back. This was _his_ workshop and he sure as hell hadn’t invited Clint down here. 

Clint grit his teeth tightly. “As much as I would like to, I’m pretty fond of my balls and Nat told me I had to. She said I was talking to either you or Cap, and I’m not touching _that_ mess with a bargepole, so it’s you and me pal.” 

Tony wanted to deny he flinched a little when he realised Natasha was talking to Steve. What would she be saying? What was there to say? What would _Steve_ be saying? Would it be immoral to ask JARVIS to show him their conversation? 

“Before you even think about it Stark, Nat’ll have disabled all the cameras and microphones and whatever weird creepy shit you’ve got on Steve’s floor, so don’t even try it,” Clint said with an eye roll. 

Tony glared. “That’s a breach of security,” he said with a pout. He probably wouldn’t have spied on Steve and JARVIS probably wouldn’t have let him anyway, but the fact Natasha and Clint had clearly thought he would, coupled with the fact he hated being told he couldn’t do anything, made him sulky. 

“You not being able to jack it to Steve getting ready for bed for one night does not count as a security breach,” Clint said with an even more exaggerated eye roll. 

“Why are you here again?” Tony asked, glare still firmly in place. 

“I’m here because this soap opera was kinda entertaining at the beginning, but now it’s just painful to watch. What’s going on with you two?” 

Tony was ready with a snappish reply, a demand Clint get out and go screw himself, a denial that anything was wrong, but the words died on his lips and instead he slumped forward on his stool. He let out a frustrated groan and rubbed harshly at his eyes with the heels of his hands. 

“It’s one step forward, two steps back. Every goddamn time,” he said tightly. 

Tony wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. He knew it wasn’t fair and he knew Steve wasn’t doing it on purpose, but that didn’t make him feel any better. 

“We…” he stopped himself short, wondering if Steve would care if Tony told the others how far they’d gone. Tony shrugged. Obviously Tony’s feelings didn’t mean a whole lot to Steve, so why should Steve’s matter to Tony? “We… We had a fight. A big fight.” 

Clint waited with a raised eyebrow for Tony to go on. 

“I’m not giving you all the gory details,” Tony snapped sullenly. “We just… Well, we…” 

“Ok, ok, don’t give yourself a hernia,” Clint snorted. “You had a fight about something and now you don’t know how to fix it.” 

“In its most simple form, yeah. I guess that’s right,” Tony huffed. 

He sat quietly for a moment, stating down at his hands as he remembered that awful blow up on Steve’s floor. He’d been down here almost ever since, avoiding Steve and the rest of the team as he replayed Steve’s ugly words over and over again. Clint cleared his throat, interrupting the flow of Tony’s thoughts. He drew a breath, trying to ignore the sick feeling that came over him whenever he remembered Steve’s face when Tony’d left. 

“He changed his mind,” Tony said eventually, still staring at his hands. “He changed his fucking mind, but he didn’t see fit to tell me that before we…” 

Tony trailed off, switching from contemplating his hands to glaring at a spot right over Clint’s shoulder. This _hurt._ Tony had good reasons for his avoidance; it was that or drunken benders and ill-advised sex. Clint making him revisit everything wasn’t helping. 

“There,” Tony declared, shifting his glare to Clint’s face. “We’ve talked about it, you can run back to your psycho girlfriend and tell her you did your duty. Now get out.” 

“Hey,” Clint protested with a frown. “Don’t talk about Nat like that, and don’t take your self-pity bullshit out on me. I’m not the one who rejected you.” 

“Get. Out,” Tony gritted out, over Clint and over Steve and over the entire situation. 

Avoidance was clearly no longer a viable option. Booze and broads, brace yourselves for Tony fucking Stark. There was silence in the workshop for a few long minutes, but Tony hadn’t heard Clint leave. He chanced a glance up and saw the archer had plonked himself down on the ratty couch Steve usually sat on. 

“Why are you still here?” Tony snapped, seeing Clint on the couch souring his mood even further. 

“Because I didn’t realise how bad this was,” Clint retorted matter-of-factly. “You sound…” 

“How do I sound? Huh? Why doesn’t Dr. Barton tell me how I sound? Upset? Hurt? Ashamed? How about heartbroken, hmm? How about that? You know I really don’t need another…” Tony’s voice cracked, and he stopped talking. 

He pressed his lips together tightly, clearing his throat and coughing to try and stave off what, unbelievably, felt like tears creeping up on him. 

“Hmm,” Clint hummed and when Tony turned a little to look at him he was balanced precariously on his arms on the couch. “Sexuality crisis? Felt your beard burn and realised you’re not a chick?” 

Tony shook his head. Clint’s cavalier attitude was, Tony hated to admit, helping a little. Alone for days on end Tony had let everything pile up on him, but somehow Clint perching on his couch like an idiot put a little perspective on things. 

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” Tony said eventually. “When he came out to me, it was a total non-event. He just slipped it into a conversation about _my_ sexuality. Honestly, I don’t think he gives a shit about being gay.” 

“And…” Tony hesitated, wondering for the thousandth time since his workshop had been invaded whether Barton was really the right person to be having this conversation with. Reassuring, maybe, but sensitive? Definitely not. 

But Tony felt like he needed it to be Barton. The man was crude, but he was honest. He wasn’t going to soft peddle it like Bruce, or only discuss it in riddles like Natasha, or try and relate by telling a story about Asgard that made no sense like Thor. Barton was a straight shooter. And ok, that comparison was cheesy, but it was true. And Tony needed to hear the truth, so he took a breath and kept talking. 

“Well, after that night isn’t the only time he’s shut down,” he said quickly. Maybe it was like pulling off a bandaid. “There were a few other times, and we weren’t even touching. He just gets this _look_ and he seems so terrified and unhappy, and then he’s awkward and weird. It’s… It’s driving me mental.” 

It felt good to admit, actually. Good to admit that Steve was doing something that was hurting Tony, good to say it without adding that it was probably Tony’s fault in some way. This time, it wasn’t. It was Steve’s fault. 

“Hmm,” Clint hummed again, now fully upside down on the couch. 

“Do you think he…” Tony stopped, choking a little on the words. He wanted to ask the question but he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. He took a shaky breath and pressed on. “Do you think he’s just changed his mind?” 

Clint was shaking his head before Tony even finished speaking, and that felt good. Tony felt a little reassured, before realising Clint shouldn’t be the one reassuring him. Steve should be, but from what Tony could tell, Steve wanted nothing to do with him. 

“That’s not it,” Clint said firmly. “And you know that if I thought that’s what was happening, I’d tell you. I’m not gonna sugar coat anything for you, Stark.” 

Tony couldn’t help rolling his eyes. 

“Yes, I believe I might’ve noticed that about you before,” he said with a small smile. 

Clint smirked back before continuing. “He’s obviously into you. He’s, and I will kill you if you ever tell anyone I used this word, but… He’s _smitten.”_

Tony wanted to make fun, but he was too caught up on that word. _Smitten._ It’s not that he hadn’t thought it before. Sometimes when they’d been out together Tony had caught Steve looking at him, just looking, but something in Steve’s eyes had stolen Tony’s breath away. But hearing Clint say it, tell him it wasn’t all in Tony’s head, felt good. 

Smitten is exactly how Tony would’ve described that look. But smitten was definitely not how Steve was acting. 

“Well,” Tony said sourly. “He’s sure got a funny way of showing it. Is that how they ‘showed their regard’ in the 30s? Stringing a guy along and then putting the brakes on so fast he smashed his head against the dashboard?” 

Clint shrugged. 

“I thought you were down here to _help me,”_ Tony said with a sharp look. 

“Yeah, that was the plan when I thought the problem could be solved with an apology and one of you was just being a stubborn asshole. I didn’t think…” 

Clint trailed off and Tony smiled bitterly before finishing his sentence. 

“You didn’t think your guess would be as good as mine as to what’s crawled up his ass and taken up residence,” Tony said. 

“Well, yeah” Clint agreed before a brief silence fell. “So you’ve really got no idea?” 

Tony shook his head miserably. “None. I mean, I know why he _said_ he was angry, you know, after. But why he’s up and down like a yoyo? No clue.” 

Clint studied him for a few moments before squaring his shoulders and standing up. 

“Well then, there’s really only one thing for it,” Clint stated decisively. 

“Yeah, what’s that?” Tony asked moodily. 

“Alcohol. Lots of it,” Clint nodded, hoisting himself up from the couch and heading towards the door with purpose. 

Tony stared at Clint’s retreating back, brain slow for once as he tried to parse what had just happened. Clint turned around, raising his eyebrow at Tony still slumped over his work bench. 

“You coming or what, old man? I thought you were a playboy?” Clint’s grin was infectious and, against his will, Tony laughed. 

“Yeah, fuck it,” Tony said as he stood up stiffly. “Let’s get wasted.” 

* * *

“Iron Man, on your left,” Steve’s voice snapped out over the comm.. 

Tony winced, copping a blow to the shoulder when he was too slow to respond to Steve’s command. 

“Iron Man!” Steve shouted. 

“Yeah, yeah, _fuck,”_ Tony swore as he took another hit to his leg. He was so off his game. Clint could go suck one. He hadn’t been this hungover in years. 

“Careful, Iron Man,” came Natasha, sounding barely puffed even though she was taking on three Doombots by herself. 

“Just a little slow this morning,” Tony admitted, taking aim at two bots and using a repulsor ricochet to take out both of them. “Gotcha! Ha, still got it.” 

Tony gloated for all of a second before Steve’s voice cut through with an angry “Chatter!” Tony rolled his eyes and took aim at another Doombot. 

At least Doom himself hadn’t bothered to make an appearance. Tony didn’t think he could handle that pompous ass when he was feeling so delicate. He couldn’t be bothered wondering what other nefarious activities the Doctor could be getting up to. Let someone else worry about it for once. 

When the last Doombot was a scrapheap on the ground and Bruce was back to himself, Tony landed on the street, groaning as his body registered all the aches and pains adrenaline had hidden from him. 

“Feeling ok, Tony?” Bruce asked softly, mouth quirked up in an expression Tony always had trouble reading. 

“Sure, just not as young as I used to be,” Tony replied, flipping up his face plate and shooting a grin in Bruce’s direction. 

“Stark!” Steve’s shout was loud, and there was a definite undercurrent of real anger behind it. 

Tony turned to look at the advancing Captain, expression thunderous, and sighed. Just what he needed. 

“Stark!” Steve said again when he was closer, tension radiating through the tight lines of his shoulders and clenched fists. 

“Cap,” Tony nodded, waiting for whatever chewing out was coming. 

“What the hell was that?” Steve demanded angrily, standing close to Tony now. 

It was the first time they’d been within spitting distance of each other since that night, and the jolt of seeing Steve up close was making Tony feel even more nauseous. 

“What the hell was what?” Tony enquired, insolence a barrier between them. 

Steve thrust his jaw out pugnaciously and Tony internally resigned himself to the fight he knew was coming. He hadn’t been at his best, sure, but Steve wouldn’t be having such a shit fit if things weren’t so tense between them. 

“You were all over the place,” Steve replied. “You shouldn’t have come out if you weren’t battle ready.” 

“Excuse me?” Tony asked incredulously. “I was completely battle ready, and fuck you very much for suggesting otherwise.” 

“You were slow and sloppy,” Steve shot back. “I don’t care what you get up to on your own time, but don’t ever let it affect your work again.” 

Tony narrowed his eyes and bit down on the cruel reply he wanted to shove down Steve’s throat. There’d been enough of that and he didn’t need any more words to regret. 

“We won, didn’t we?” Tony demanded instead. “What’s the problem?” 

“The problem is we very nearly didn’t ‘win,’” Steve snapped back. “You were off your game, you put everyone at risk, you’re a danger to yourself and the rest of the team…” 

Steve was picking up steam, his voice louder with each word spoken in anger but his rant was interrupted by Natasha. 

“Cap,” she interrupted, her voice not loud but so sharp. “You need to calm down. No one was hurt.” 

“Sheer dumb luck,” Steve spat at her. 

Steve didn’t normally speak to Natasha like that, to start with because she was a ‘dame’ and later because he had too much respect for her. Her expression didn’t change an iota, but the rest of the team shifted awkwardly. 

“He’s reckless and dangerous,” Steve barrelled on, ignoring the looks of discomfort from Thor and Bruce. 

“Hey, come on Steve,” Clint protested. “Everyone has off days and nothing happened, take it easy.” 

“I will not take it easy,” Steve shouted at Clint, practically spitting with rage. “He’s a…” 

“’He’ is standing right fucking here you self-righteous prick!” Tony interrupted, letting his temper get the best of him and pushing Steve’s shoulder harshly. 

“Don’t touch me,” Steve shot back, slapping at Tony’s hand hard enough to jar him inside the armour. 

“What is your problem?!” Tony yelled, pushing into Steve’s space and coming face to face with the Captain. “I didn’t do anything wrong!” 

“Yes you did!” Steve screamed back, his composure completely gone. “You, you… You could’ve died Tony!” 

That brought Tony up short for a second and he opened his mouth to ask if Steve was worried, before Steve continued shouting without giving Tony a chance. 

“And you could’ve taken us and half of New York with you!” 

“Bullshit,” Tony retorted. “I wasn’t anything like that bad and you know it.” 

“Think of someone else besides yourself for once, Stark,” Steve said coldly, the heat of his rage cooled to something somehow even worse. “Just because you have a death wish doesn’t mean we all want to follow you into the grave.” 

Silence followed that, punctuated only by a quiet “Oh, Steve,” from Bruce who just shook his head when Steve turned to glare at him. Even after the absolute shit show the past week had been, Tony still couldn’t quite believe things had gotten this bad. Steve was a different person, his anger uncurbed and irrational. Tony’d had it. He couldn’t do it anymore, and in a way it would be a relief to just admit that and pull the plug. He’d miss them all though. 

“You know what Steve?” Tony snapped, hating the sound of his own voice. “I really fucking don’t need this. I really don’t! Let me save you the trouble of seeing me every day and expending all this energy on hating my guts. This? You and me? Done. Enjoy your life, I fucking quit.” 

Steve’s face, normally one of Tony’s favourite things to look at, was twisted painfully. Tony didn’t know with what exactly; anger, humiliation, shame, hurt, contempt? Tony couldn’t tell. He’d lost any ability to read Steve what seemed like a long time ago. How long had they been dating for? Could it even really be considered dating? Was this really what Tony had wanted more than anything once? 

Tony was used to being wrong about relationships. He just never thought he’d be wrong about this one. Wrong about Steve. 

He knew it was silly and melodramatic, but hey, that was just the kinda guy Tony was, so he clapped down his faceplate and took off without another word. 

He heard protests from the other Avengers, asking where he was going, telling him he couldn’t leave, but Steve never said a word. Tony only hoped he never had to hear that voice in his ear again. 

* * *

“It was his idea!” Tony slurred. “His fucking idea! He asked to come up to my room!” he gestured emphatically with his glass and got a little beer down the top of the woman he was currently complaining to. 

She was older, or at least she looked it. Tony still wasn’t quite sure if she really was older, or if she’d just lived a hard life. Maybe both. God, how had he ended up here. He’d wanted somewhere no one would know him, or at least somewhere no one would have a camera phone. This place fit the bill on both counts. 

Her name was Tanya. Or something. It wasn’t really important. What was important was she was the only other person in this dive willing to listen to him, and she was warm against his side. He wasn’t sure yet whether the heavy weight of her hand on his knee was welcome or not, but she’d spent the past 3 hours sympathising so she’d probably earned at least a little groping. 

“The cheek,” Tanya said, eyes half closed and mouth more than a little slack. 

“Succinct and apt, my dear”, Tony replied, throwing back the last of his beer and belching loudly. 

“He’s an asshole,” she declared loudly, punctuating this with a strong squeeze to his knee. 

Tony opened his mouth to agree, but the words wouldn’t come. Steve wasn’t an asshole. Steve was Captain America. Steve was everything good in Tony’s life. Steve was perfect. No wonder he didn’t want Tony. 

Tony groaned and leaned his head on Tanya’s shoulder. He’d now bypassed the righteous anger stage of drunkenness and had entered maudlin. This was a bad sign. Tony should leave, but he didn’t want to go home. Steve was at home. Steve, who didn’t want him but hadn’t even had the guts to tell him so. 

Steve, who was the bravest man Tony had ever met, couldn’t simply let Tony down gently. He couldn’t assure Tony they’d stay friends, assure him Steve still liked him. Tony felt his chest shake with a sob and mumbled an apology to Tanya for getting tears on her top. 

She didn’t respond right away and Tony sighed. He should really leave before this got any more mortifying. He roused himself a little, dragging himself up from Tanya’s shoulder. He turned towards her to say goodbye and thank her for listening, but he didn’t get the chance before her mouth was covering his. 

She tasted like sour, cheap whiskey and full tar cigarettes. She used her tongue too much and Tony felt like he was at the dentist. She wasn’t beautiful or young or blonde or blue-eyed. Tony sobbed into her mouth and she pulled away, wiping her spit on the back of her hand. 

Tony stood up, throwing a few bills down on the table and leaving without another word to anyone. He stumbled into the carpark and down the road a little to the clearing where he’d left the suit. He needn’t have bothered trying to hide it, he was in the sticks and the people at the bar wouldn’t have noticed nor cared if he’d had antlers. 

Tony looked around himself at the trees and the dusty ground and wondered if he could make a new life for himself in this clearing. Tanya could be his wife and he could fix cars. 

He lay back on the ground and winced when his head hit it too hard. He fumbled out his phone and spoke to JARVIS. 

“JARVIS?” he whispered. 

It was so quiet out there. He could hear crickets, actual _crickets._

“Yes, sir?” JARVIS answered and Tony’s smile was watery, but present. 

“What are the Avengers doing right now?” 

“Thor has departed for New Mexico to visit Dr. Foster, after clearing it with Director Fury,” JARVIS started. 

Tony frowned. “Wait, what? Why?”

“It appears he and several other members of the Avengers were distraught about your encounter with Captain Rogers, and your subsequent departure,” JARVIS replied. 

Tony smiled a little. His ‘encounter’ with Steve. How clinical that sounded. How minor. He frowned then though. What did distraught mean? Why had Thor left? 

“What do you mean distraught? Play relevant files,” Tony slurred, trying to focus his eyes on his phone screen. “Don’t bother with video, just audio” Tony sighed, realising he was fighting a losing battle with his eyes. 

“Retrieving relevant data,” JARVIS said, and Tony swore he could hear disapproval. Great, now his AI hated him too. 

The audio started playing immediately but it took Tony a few seconds to decipher who was who. He picked out Steve’s voice first, of course. Fuck, was he hardwired to love Steve? 

“I really don’t think it’s any of your business,” Steve was saying. Tony could tell he was trying to sound authoritative, but he just ended up sounding stiff. 

Clint’s voice answered him. “You made it our business when you decided to treat Stark like shit, _Steve,”_ shit, he sounded angry. Tony wished he weren’t so drunk, he was sure this would seem more significant sober. 

“Verily, Captain,” came Thor’s boom and Tony winced. They probably heard that back in the bar. “You are the leader of our team, how could you treat one of your own so callously?” 

Tears prickled the back of Tony’s eyes. He shouldn’t have come out here, he didn’t have to try and hide. He could’ve stayed with his friends. With his family. 

“Fuck,” he swore softly, wiping at his eyes as the conversation playing through his phone continued. 

“I, I, I didn’t treat him _callously,”_ Steve was protesting, not even trying to sound stern anymore. He almost sounded like he was pleading. 

“Oh bullshit Steve,” came Clint’s snapping voice again, and Tony wished he was sober enough for video. He wanted to see Clint angry on his behalf. Fuck, those tears again. 

“You ask him out, string him along, then pull back every time, and then you _scream_ at him in front of the whole team. _The guy is in love with you._ How the fuck did you think you were treating him?!” Clint yelled. 

Tony shifted awkwardly again, a little less grateful. Tony had never said the ‘L’ word to Steve, and after today he’d been sure Steve would never know the depth of his feeling. He’d been sure that was for the best, maintain the few scraps of dignity Tony had left. Tony huffed a breath. He guessed that was too much to hope for. 

“He… He doesn’t…” Steve started, but his voice was hard to hear and he seemed to trail off completely. 

“Grow up, Steve,” Clint snarled, but this time he was interrupted. 

“Clint, this isn’t helping,” Natasha said. 

Shit, were they all there? Gathered in the living room to talk about poor messed up Tony and big bad Steve. Tony closed his eyes. He was getting a headache. He was touched, he was. But he wasn’t feeling any righteous vindication. He just felt tired and sad. He didn’t know how much he could listen to but he wanted to hear the end. 

“Steve,” Bruce said then and Tony let out a sniffle. “You’ve messed up.” 

Tony could hear a few voices then, Steve and Thor and Clint, but Bruce overrode them all in the end. 

“You have, Steve. I don’t know what went on between you two, but the way you treated him today was totally out of line. You need to fix this. I…” 

Tony could hear Bruce draw in a breath and found he was holding his own. 

“I’m not interested in being on a team that Tony’s not a part of,” Bruce finished after a few beats. 

“Shit,” Tony breathed. This was not what he wanted. 

“Nor I. The son of Stark is a noble warrior,” came Thor’s boom, and similar sounds of assent from Natasha and Clint. 

Tony was holding his breath again, waiting for Steve to speak. 

“I never meant to…” he said, and he sounded _broken._ Tony bit down on his lip to try and stop the tears. He’d never meant this. He never wanted to hurt Steve. This was his fault. If he hadn’t been so melodramatic… His next thought was cut off by the sound of Steve’s voice through the phone again. 

“I’ll find him. I’ll… Fix it,” Steve said, and even though there was a little more steel in his voice, it still cracked. 

Silence followed as the audio file ended. 

“Sir, would you like to hear any more recordings?” JARVIS asked. 

“No, no, Christ. Definitely not,” Tony said quickly, rubbing a hand over his eyes. 

Listening to that conversation had sobered him up at least 25%. Unfortunately, that still meant he was 75% drunk. 

“JARVIS? Would you mind helping to pilot the suit back to the Tower? Make sure I don’t hit any buildings, that sort of thing?” 

“Certainly, sir,” JARVIS said. 

Tony groaned as he stood, his joints clicking and his muscles aching. There had better be no villainous activity for the next week at least. 

Tony closed his eyes as he felt the armour snap in place around him, encasing him, cocooning him. When he opened his eyes, the world was filtered through the Iron Man, but nothing was clearer. He took a deep breath. 

“Let’s go, JARVIS.” 

The passing of the countryside underneath him made him feel woozy, so he closed his eyes for a moment, trusting JARVIS to steer him right. Exhaustion was setting in, and Tony felt lost. He was heading back to the Tower, but he wasn’t sure what awaited him there. 

* * *

When he entered New York City airspace he expected to feel a little surge of happiness. The cityscape normally made him feel better, no matter what was bothering him, but tonight it just felt lonely. 

He saw Stark Tower in front of him and sighed. The flight back had sobered him up a bit, but the bad news was that left room for his hangover to creep in. He was too tired to want to do anything tonight, but he still needed to try and sort out the mess between him and Steve. 

Steve had been a dick, yes, and focusing on that instead of all the ways the man was perfect was the only way Tony could cope. But Tony had not behaved well. Snapping at him in front of the others before flying off, seriously, _flying off._ Could Tony be any more of a teenage girl? 

He needed to fix this. The Avengers were his family, and he was touched they’d gone to bat for him like that. But they were Steve’s family too, and Steve had less of a connection to this world than Tony did, and they didn’t know the full story. 

Clint’s snarling voice and Bruce’s gentle rebuke made Tony feel oddly guilty. He was still hurt, hell, he’d probably always be hurt Steve had been so fickle. But, if he was being charitable, Tony knew Steve hadn’t meant to. He hadn’t done it maliciously, and Tony had accidentally hurt enough people in his life to appreciate the value of forgiveness. 

“JARVIS, where’s Steve?” Tony asked as soon as he’d landed, the armour peeling off him slowly. 

“Captain Rogers is currently in his suite, sir,” JARVIS replied immediately. 

Tony sighed. He really wasn’t up for any emotional rollercoaster tonight, and a vindictive part of him wanted to let Steve stew until morning. But he couldn’t do that, not really. 

Steeling himself, Tony asked JARVIS to put him through to Steve’s floor. 

“Hello?” came Steve’s voice, resting somewhere between panic and relief. 

“Hey, Cap,” Tony said before he could catch himself. Cap sounded too friendly, too intimate now. But what else was there? Steve was even worse. Captain? Rogers? Full-blown Captain Rogers? This was painful already and all Tony had done was say hello. 

“Tony, thank god, thank god,” Steve said, and Tony was struck dumb for a moment. It sounded like Steve was crying. “God Tony, are you alright?” Steve asked breathlessly. 

“Alright?” Tony repeated, taken aback. “Yeah, um, yeah. I’m alright. Look, I want to keep this short, I just wanted to say I’m back so you don’t have to keep looking for me or anything. And, um…” 

Tony closed his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to think of the best way to admit he’d used JARVIS to eavesdrop on his conversation with the other Avengers. Luckily, Steve saved him the trouble. 

“Oh god Tony, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know,” he practically sobbed. This was so not a conversation Tony was equipped to deal with right now. At least they weren’t face to face. “Clint told me, well Clint and Thor and Bruce, they told me, Tony I’m so sorry. I never meant…” 

Steve was getting hard to understand and Tony didn’t see the situation improving any time soon, so he cut in. 

“Steve, Steve,” Tony had to say a few times to get Steve’s attention. “Look, we can talk about this in the morning. I’m kinda wiped right now. But I just wanted to let you know I’m here, and I’ll talk to the others, let them know it’s fine.” 

“What? In the morning? No, Tony, I need to talk to you now, please, I need to explain, I can’t sleep if I don’t explain. It’s not _fine_ at all,” Steve was babbling, and Tony was at the end of his rope. 

His day had been horrible, his week hadn’t been much better, and the person who’d made him feel that way was acting like the wounded party. Well, fuck that. Not on Tony’s watch. 

“Look, Cap,” Tony cut in again, his tone sharp. “I’m tired. I’ve had an unbelievably shitty day. I’ll talk to you later, tomorrow maybe. But…” Tony paused, weighing up how much of an asshole he really wanted to be. How much of an asshole Steve had really warranted him being. Steve’s words flashed through Tony’s mind, _It should’ve meant something,_ and the cold feeling that had been trailing him settled back into its familiar spot in his gut. 

“It’s really not my problem if you can’t sleep. You made it pretty clear you didn’t want me. So now you don’t have me,” Tony disconnected before Steve could reply. 

He wanted to ask JARVIS to show him the security feed from Steve’s room, show him what the super soldier was doing. Was he still crying? Was he angry? Would he be able to sleep tonight? Tony half wished he could stop being so petty, and he was fairly sure that in the long run, he could. He didn’t want to hate Steve, all things considered he didn’t think he could hate Steve. But for now, the hurt was raw enough that Tony told himself not to feel bad about not taking the high road. The high road was for suckers. And one thing Tony had never been was a sucker. 


	10. The Art of Hiding

Tony was hiding. 

He’d been hiding so long he’d finally admitted to himself that ‘taking pre-emptive evasive action,’ ‘exercising appropriate caution,’ and ‘practicing stealth’ were all incorrect. There was no other word for it. He was hiding. 

The sense of self-righteousness that had come over him last night had faded and been replaced with a sour taste in his mouth that no amount of toothpaste could budge, nausea, and a killer headache he just couldn’t shake. Last night the prospect of a conversation with Steve where Tony got to play the wounded party didn’t seem so bad. He could sit opposite Steve and listen to whatever excuses about adapting to twentieth century life he’d cooked up, glare, pout, maybe turn on the waterworks if he really wanted to torture the guy. In the cold hard light of day, though, Tony didn’t much want to see Steve ever again, let alone have what he feared would be a lengthy and snot-filled conversation with him. 

So, he was hiding. 

After a few hours of restless sleep punctuated by a few dry retching sessions, Tony had given up and headed to his workshop ready to be distracted. JARVIS, traitorous swine that he was, had decided Tony needed at least 4 more hours sleep before he’d be sober enough to be allowed near anything fun. 

Tony had grumbled and threatened JARVIS with decommission, but in the end the familiarity of the workshop with all of its sharp scents and cold hard surfaces had lulled him into a few much needed hours of rest. When he woke up, he’d lain on the workshop couch for another hour trying to decide how he felt. Was he angry still? There was definitely some anger. Tony couldn’t pretend there wasn’t. Was he hurt still? Oh yes. Tony had hurt in spades. But where he was getting confused was where the anger stopped and the hurt began, and whether they were different things at all. 

He also couldn’t decide if he even wanted to hear Steve try to stammer his way through an explanation. Sure, he wondered what it was that kept making Steve clam up, but would knowing help? Or would it make it worse? He couldn’t help but think his tried and tested coping mechanism of ignoring it until it goes away might be the best course of action. The 13 messages Steve had asked JARVIS to pass on made Tony think that may not be an option. 

The notifications had started soon after Tony woke up. 

* * *

“Sir, Captain Rogers has asked me to pass on the following messages,” JARVIS announced when Tony was still bleary eyed and teetering between a trip to the bathroom or settling for the sink. 

“What?” Tony croaked. “How many messages are we talking?” 

“Currently 5 sir, however if the Captain continues at his current rate I estimate you will have 50 messages by lunchtime,” JARVIS replied. 

“Jesus H. Christ,” Tony groaned, rubbing his face with his hand. “Give me the gist.” 

“Captain Rogers is very eager to speak with you, sir,” JARVIS replied. “His messages all relate to scheduling a conversation as soon as you are able.” 

“Urgg,” Tony grumbled, flopping over onto his back on the couch and shielding his eyes with his arm. “It’s too early to deal with this. Tell him we can talk later.” 

“Very well sir,” JARVIS sounded unconvinced Steve would be put off, and Tony was inclined to agree with him. 

“Crap,” Tony muttered. “I should probably try and talk the others off the ledge too…” 

“Would you like me to put a call in for you, sir?” 

“Yeah… Yeah, ok, um, ok, call Clint first,” Tony decided eventually. 

He’d meant to call the rest of the wayward Avengers flock last night to assure them he was still alive and hadn’t choked on his own tear-flavoured vomit, but it’d slipped his mind after talking to Steve. 

“Connecting, sir.” 

Tony steeled himself and it wasn’t long before Clint’s gravelly voice answered. 

“Whadda ya want?” he grunted. 

“It’s me, birdbrain,” Tony replied shortly. 

“Tony, hey, are you alright?” Clint’s voice lost it’s bad tempered tone as soon as Tony spoke. 

“Yeah, look, cut that shit out right now,” Tony snapped. “As much as I appreciate you trying to take me under your tiny wing, I don’t need you to defend my honour with Steve, ok?” 

“Really?” Clint sounded sceptical. “Sort of seemed like you needed me when you flew off with tears streaming down your face yesterday.” 

“Streaming down my…?! Bullshit, Barton! My faceplate was down, you couldn’t… Oh, I see, I see how it is. I know what you’re doing, featherbutt, you can’t fool me.” 

“You caught me,” Clint deadpanned, and Tony barked out his first real laugh in days. “Seriously, though, you alright?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Tony blew a breath out, wondering even as he said it if it was true. “Don’t worry about me and hey, take it easy on Steve ok? It’s not his fault he’s an idiot.” 

Clint laughed at that before swearing under his breath. 

“So you’re all sorted, then?” he asked, sounding doubtful. 

“Not even close,” Tony admitted with another huffed laugh. “I only spoke to him a little last night on the phone. I think he wants to meet up and talk feelings today but my hangover’s resistant.” 

“Your hangover, huh?” Clint replied. 

“Hey, let me have my transparent avoidance, I’m the wounded party here.” 

“Sure, sure,” Clint replied, Tony sure he could hear the accompanying eye roll. “Well, hope you work it out.” 

“Yeah,” Tony’s voice was quieter than he wanted, so he left it at that and let the silence hang in the air for a few moments. “Anyway, I’d better get back to wallowing.” 

That earned him another laugh before Clint shot back, “You do that, Stark. And hey, just… I’m here…” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Tony interrupted. “I’m ending this conversation before it gets any more sappy. See you later, Barton.” 

“Bye Stark,” is all he got back before JARVIS disconnected. 

“One down…” Tony muttered before hauling himself up and setting off in search of sustenance he could actually keep down. 

* * *

“Hey fluffernutter,” Tony started, feeling unaccountably nervous. Bruce had a way of extracting all of Tony’s darkest secrets without even trying, and Tony wanted to avoid an out and out heart to heart at all costs. 

Bruce looked up, hair disarrayed and glasses askew as usual. 

“Tony,” he sounded surprised. “I didn’t know you were back. Are you…” 

“Peachy,” Tony interrupted firmly. 

Bruce just blinked at him, looking for all the world like he couldn’t care less whether Tony really was peachy or not. That sly fucker. 

“Ok, ok, you got me!” Tony rolled his eyes. “But I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; it’s a good thing you use your powers for good and not evil.” 

“I didn’t say anything,” Bruce replied mildly. 

“Yeah, you’re not fooling me pal,” Tony wagged his finger in Bruce’s direction. 

He slumped down on the nearest stool and let his shoulders droop. 

“I have no idea how I am. Not good is a start, I guess.” 

“Have you talked to him yet?” Bruce asked, avoiding eye contact and fiddling with some sheets of paper Tony was sure contained no useful information whatsoever. 

“Yes, so you don’t get to be disappointed Dad this time,” Tony muttered. 

Bruce glanced up from his probably blank pieces of paper and met Tony’s eyes. 

“Ok, ok, I talked to him briefly last night but today? No, not yet, but it’s not like I’ve had much opportunity...” 

“Excuse me, sir, but there is another message from Captain Rogers. That brings the total to 15 unplayed messages from the Captain,” JARVIS interrupted. 

“Thank you, JARVIS, that’s enough out of you for the next few weeks,” Tony gritted out, not for the first time cursing himself for designing an AI with a personality. 

“Tony,” Bruce began, mild as ever, but Tony held up a hand to stop him before he could really get going. 

“I know, ok, I know? But I can’t face him, I just… I can’t.” 

“You can’t put it off forever either,” Bruce replied. 

“A few hours isn’t forever,” Tony protested. “I just need some time. At the moment I’m having trouble seeing the value of a debriefing on all the reasons he’s not interested.” 

“You know that’s not going to be what it is,” Bruce pointed out, adjusting his glasses and rubbing at his nose. “I was hard on him last night, but he’s not a bad guy, Tony. You know that.” 

“Do I?” Tony huffed, knowing even as he said it he _did_ know that. 

“You’ve sure changed your tune from last night there, big fella,” he pointed out to deflect. 

Bruce’s sharp gaze told Tony he wasn’t fooled, but he let it pass. 

“Last night was last night,” Bruce replied. 

“Huh. Thanks for the cheap philosophy.” 

“And Steve needed someone to call him on his bullshit,” Bruce continued more firmly. “I said he’s not a bad guy, not that he wasn’t acting like an asshole.” 

That surprised a laugh out of Tony. 

“Language, doctor!” he grinned. 

“I know, I know. I’m a beast,” Bruce smiled, turning once again back to his meaningless tasks. 

“Ok, well I guess I should be going,” Tony said unsurely, uncertain whether Bruce getting back to busy work was a dismissal or not. 

“Talk to him, Tony,” came Bruce’s reply. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony huffed as he made to leave, wishing he could’ve spun that out just a little longer. 

15 messages, huh. 

* * *

“Guess Widow’s next on the list,” Tony mused to JARVIS. 

“Indeed, sir,” JARVIS replied in what was definitely a placating tone. 

“Guess it’s unavoidable,” Tony smacked his lips together. 

“She was present at the confrontation with Captain Rogers,” JARVIS pointed out. 

“Yeah…” Tony chewed on his lip. “Send her a note.” 

“Certainly, sir,” JARVIS definitely sounded smug. 

Goddamn AIs. 

* * *

“Thor? Thor, can you hear me?” 

“With perfect clarity, man of iron!” came Thor’s booming reply, Tony wincing as the god’s voice thundered around the workshop. Maybe speakerphone wasn’t the best idea. 

“Yeah, great, look about last night,” Tony started, feeling awkward and unsure. 

Barton and Bruce were one thing, and Natasha was a whole nother thing, but Thor occupied a place of uncertainty. He and Tony didn’t exactly have a whole lot in common. Thor didn’t really have much in common with anyone. Tony liked him, hey Tony adored the guy, but heart to hearts about churlish almost-sorta-lovers? Definitely not on the agenda. 

“Yes, Anthony?” Thor prompted when Tony had been quiet for at least half a minute. 

“Yeah, yeah, er, look,” Tony stammered. “The thing is…” 

What was the thing? Tony couldn’t remember. Maybe Tony had never known. Tony should definitely have better prepared for this phone call. 

“You wish to speak of my words with the Captain?” Thor asked, voice still bouncing around the corners of the workshop. 

“What? God, no, not really, I mean,” Tony began, shuddering slightly at the thought of Thor offering whatever his version of couples counselling was. “I just wanted to let you know you can come back whenever you’re ready, big guy.” 

“You and Steven have healed the wound that lies between you?” 

Tony rolled his eyes. See, flowery bullshit like that was exactly why he’d been dreading making the phone call. 

“No, no, there’s no _wound_ between us,” Tony tried to nip that shit in the bud. _Wounded._ As if _Steve_ could wound Tony. “I’m just saying…” 

He chewed his lip for a moment, trying to think of the best way to head this off at the pass. He snapped his fingers when he hit on it; confusing Thor was always the safest bet when it came to dodging awkward conversations. 

“I’m just saying St… Cap and I’ve resolved our interpersonal dispute,” he landed on, smugness radiating through his tone. Human resources euphemisms always threw Thor for a loop. Not that Tony could blame the guy. “The conflict’s been mediated and both sides have, erm, come to an amicable agreement.” 

Tony frowned a little at the end, sure he’d wandered into lawyer speak somewhere during the sentence. Not that it mattered either way, gobbledygook was gobbledygook to Thor. 

“I see,” Thor replied after a few beats of silence. His tone seemed to suggest he didn’t see, but that was exactly what Tony had been going for. As long as Thor knew Tony and Steve were back to grudging teammates, or whatever other dynamic they were going to work out, and there was no need for his long-winded and poetic wisdom, they were good. 

“I shall remain with the fair Jane a few days longer,” Thor spoke again when it became clear Tony wasn’t making anymore sounds. “I am gladdened you and the Captain have been mediated.” 

“Right,” Tony’s mouth slid to the side a little. “Me too. Consider us mediated.”

“Indeed. I shall return to your Tower soon, Anthony. I hope to find you happier when I do.” 

Thor didn’t give Tony the chance to reply, simply hanging up after he’d said his piece, leaving Tony as unsure on where things stood with Thor as he’d been before the call. Happier? What the hell was that supposed to mean? 

Tony turned towards his bench, muttering about double speaking demigods as he pulled up some schematics and ignoring JARVIS’ polite “Sir, there are now 24 messages from the Captain” with all his might. 

* * *

So, Tony was hiding. 

He’d made his calls, talked to his people, settled his stomach, but there was nothing more for it. He had to face his fate like a man. 

He just had a few more things to take care of first... 


End file.
